


Meeting Mr. Graves

by verellie



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verellie/pseuds/verellie
Summary: Credence sneaks out from Newt's home in England to board an ocean liner back to New York. He meets the real Percival Graves for the first time in a patient room. Graves was kidnapped by Grindelwald and rescued by the investigators of MACUSA. When Mr. Graves opens his eyes, he is surprised to find an Obscurus lingering next to his bed. Soon, they will get to know each other. Both have secrets that they will share. And Mr. Graves will find the reason he was kidnapped and tortured.This story is a sequel to the first movie of the series. Mr. Graves' character is my mere imagination. (Rewritten and completed on 2017/03/11)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I'm sorry I was absent from AO3 for so long. I worked on another project for two months.... Here I present you a Fantastic Beasts fan-fiction. In case, you think shipping the poor boy with his abuser isn't proper. There is nothing abusive in my story. None.

 

 

1.

_Credence_

 

 

 

**N** ew York Hospital for Peculiar Diseases was the name of the hospital for witches and wizards at 277-280 Broadway, not far from Woolworth Building. I was in a private room on the fourth floor. The temperature was moodily warm despite the windstorm that had been racking Manhattan’s streets since the high noon. The room was gloomily and dimly white due to both the lack of glee and the absence of sunlight. The floor was almost undecorated, as dull as the surrounding massive wall, except for a metal-framed bed that stood in the middle of the room. The bed’s head was close to the blank wall. Only a narrow window separated the bed from the raging lightning and the crying rain clouds.

Mr. Graves was sleeping soundly in the bed. His body was covered by a soft blanket that smelled like soap and powder. He was alone so I was granted a little freedom. I floated over the iron headboard, watching him breathe in and breathe out. He didn’t look much like the man I’d known. His beard had grown fuzzy. His salt and pepper hair was unkempt. A heavy frown fixed on his handsome face which was now wearing mild scratches here and there. According to the story I’d heard, the damage had been horrifyingly worse off including rope burns and immobility, but the doctors had cast many spells on the wounds and successfully brought them to the current trivial state.

 

Subsequent to the arrest of Gellert Grindelwald, the investigating officers of MACUSA had conducted a search for the real Percival Graves while Grindelwald had settled in his new barred home and refused to cooperate. With a lot of effort and manpower, Mr. Graves was later found tied up in the basement of an abandoned theater in the West Bronx, unconscious and invisible as the dark wizard had cleverly hidden him. The charm revealed his naked body. It was rigid and frigid and coated with blood. The officers rushed him to the hospital.

Mr. Graves was saved.

 

I’d heard the news by eavesdropping Mr. Scamander. Eaten up by worry, I _partly_ sneaked into an ocean liner and came back to New York. I went to Miss Goldstein’s house and secretly (maybe not so secretly because the other Miss Goldstein smiled at me) learned that Mr. Graves had been admitted to New York Hospital for Peculiar Diseases—a normal name used in order to hide the hospital’s magical quality. I slipped out and raced to find the place.

 

The movement on the bed caught my eyes, although I couldn’t say that I had an eye. Mr. Graves was waking up! He arched his back painfully and threw himself back down. The sound of his weight sinking in the bed attracted a nurse. She looked through a small window on the door and saw her patient. She then disappeared from sight. A second later, I heard a high-pitched shout, probably a name of a doctor.

Mr. Graves spread his arms and groaned quietly. I’d like to help but I didn’t know how to help. I didn’t know how to relieve his pain. I didn’t even have a hand to hold him up. And I wasn’t sure if it’d be safe to show myself. After all, I was nothing but a monster.

And Mr. Graves didn’t even know me. That man who knew me was Gellert Grindelwald. Mr. Graves, being the chief security officer, might not be partial to me and my past rampage as Grindelwald was.

So, I just lingered near the floor beside the bed. After a while, the pain stopped, or he’d gotten used to it. Mr. Graves flopped back into the bed and stretched his right arm. His big and thick hand was above me.

A male doctor and two female nurses came into the room. Disturbed by the concern about their patient, they didn’t notice me. The doctor checked Mr. Graves’ condition and told him that MACUSA had been informed about him waking up. Some officers would be here soon.

“What happened?” Mr. Graves asked the doctor as the doctor was checking his pulse. Mr. Graves’ voice, the same low baritone voice Grindelwald had used to lure me, sounded exhausted and annoyed. The doctor didn’t provide him any information. The doctor told Mr. Graves that the officers would explain everything, and then, with those two pretty nurses, the doctor left.

Mr. Graves sighed testily and leaned back.

“How about you? Do you know what happened?” He asked.

There was nobody else in the room. Just Mr. Graves and _I_.

_Is… is he talking to... me?_

I moved to hide under the bed. His hand came down and waved back and forth as if he was trying to seize me. Feeling alarmed, I drew back further, but the hand persistently hung there.

Slowly, I was pulled to the waiting hand.

When my black cloud touched his palm, I heard a soft chuckle and I felt so hot like the chuckle was a burning spell cast on me. Mr. Graves wiggled his fingers but he couldn’t grab me. No one could grab my black cloud. So he used the spell to pull me up and up until I was in full view to the curious eyes of dark brown. He held me in the cup of his hand. I hoped he would remember me but unfortunately, it wasn’t him I’d met. I’d met the great evil.

Mr. Graves observed me with great interest. When he realized that I wasn’t going to do anything except observing him too. He guided me to the bed so that he could rest on his back again. Mr. Graves turned his palm down and placed it on his chest. I followed like I was a baby duck believing that the hand was its mother. I was now a tamed monster dancing on his knuckle.

Mr. Graves inspected me in silence. He neither smiled nor made an angry face but I sensed that he was pleased with my behavior.

“You are a strange Obscurus.” He uttered. “Now who are you, Little One?”

 

 


	2. The Case File

 

2.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **T** he creature continued its odd demeanor, sitting meekly on my right hand. The black cloud wasn’t at all hazardous and assaultive as the flying wild entity Obscurus was always described. It was enormously less in size than the monster believed to be so destructive. I wondered if there, in this strange world of magic, be a baby Obscurus.

I didn’t expect it to come into my hand willingly in the manner of a little lady being lured by a powerful charming spell. I was also very astounded by its attraction to me. Glowing gently as if being shy, the creature never once left my hand. The Obscurus’ thought was unfathomable, but so far, I hadn’t sensed any ominous natures from this little guy. So I concluded, that it wouldn’t harm me.

Someone knocked on the door. The Obscurus was spooked and quickly went under the bed withdrawing itself from sight. An officer came into the room. Good. Now I could get the explanation why I was tucked into the hospital’s bed.

My misfortune had something to do with the criminal—Gellert Grindelwald—and the hardship on my back was the result of the prolonged torture Grindelwald had given me. But it wasn’t Grindelwald that I’d seen when I’d caught a glimpse of flash cutting through the complete darkness as my entire body became sore and frozen. And I bet my bottom dollar that it wasn’t the then wanted murderer that had looked at me with pure fascination at both times I was abducted and bound. But the kidnapping was unarguably an act of a witch or wizard with potent power. It could be Grindelwald wearing a mask of someone else.

I demanded to see the case file. _My_ case’s file. The officer reluctantly summoned it and handed it to me.

“Can I go home?”

Of course, I could. I could do whatever I wanted. I asked just because, after all, my subordinates had saved my life.

“Sure enough, Mr. Graves.” The officer seemed very much surprised that I bothered to ask. “Just make sure you leave this bed only on the doctor’s say-so.” He wished me good health and, a mere second later, out of the room he went.

“You can come back in,” I called the Obscurus. Stillness responded to my call so I bent down to see if it was still there. To my relief, Little One was hugging itself behind one of the bed legs like a frightened puppy. “Come on. Come back in the bed.” I beckoned. “The officer’s long gone.”

This time, it slowly but cheerfully flew to me. It settled on my shoulder as I opened the case file.

The case started with my profile followed by several pictures of the gruesome state the officers had found me in. All the external wounds were cuts, slashes and slices caused by being whipped to the bone. Dry blood was everywhere. Thankfully, they hadn’t put those moving pictures in the file.

I winced when the vivid memory and the tormenting pain that had harassed those days and nights sparked to life in my head. Fear had been growing in my heart and it still stayed. I’d believed I would die. I had no clue why I’d been kidnapped. I’d thought then that I’d carelessly fallen into the hands of a fiend so deranged.

The next pages tried to help me to understand.

Grindelwald had needed a disguise to interfere with the Obscurus investigation in order that, if it’d been found, he would steal the monster and keep it for his own use. To achieve that goal, he’d assigned himself to lead the investigation and later, had a clue about the monster’s whereabouts. The clue had lain within Second Salem Church. Grindelwald had manipulated an adolescent named Credence Barebone to find an Obscurial which, the dark wizard had believed, had been residing in that dispiriting church.

I was stunned by the picture of the Barebone boy. Dark irides with fair skin and a very strange haircut for a grown boy, I recognized him from the street of Broadway where he’d halfheartedly passed propaganda handbills to onlookers while the anti-witchcraft woman had preached.

The same boy had dragged me into the secluded torture chamber.

The same eyes had looked at me with insane wonder whether I’d lose my pride and my sanity. Whether I’d scream.

Still, it could be Grindelwald who’d disguised himself as the boy.

But, why me? I hadn’t involved in the Obscurus investigation before he pretended to be me and took upon himself the case. Why had he not taken the other wizard with less strength? Why had he not taken Tina Goldstein? She’d said something about helping the Barebone boy before. Wasn’t that quality greatly useful to gain the boy’s trust?

I flipped to another page.

Credence Barebone was the Obscurial.

The little guy on my shoulder shifted uncomfortably.

_Could it be?_

The Obscurial had been destroyed, said the report. But, what if he’d managed to survive?

“Are you Credence?”

Alas, Little One couldn’t speak. But he obediently climbed into my hand when I ordered, “Credence, come here.”

I watched the black cloud floating in my hand and shimmering weakly. I couldn’t read its mind nor I was strong enough to choke the truth out of Grindelwald’s psychopathic core. So, I decided, first thing first, I’d get an official discharge and get back home.

I was also keeping the mysterious Little One.

 

 


	3. The truth as I recall it

 

3.

_Credence_

 

 

 

 

 **M** r. Graves was walking back and forth in his round living room on the seventh floor of the Ansonia.

I’d never been in a skyscraper before, let alone the ornate one like this residential hotel’s room. My mouth might be hanging right now if I had a mouth. The wall was white and dazzling, decorated with a collection of New York City paintings. The silver crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling was sparkling bright. The furniture was either black or white or in-between. A velvet sofa of gray and two striped armchairs of matching material occupied half of the black and silver fleur-de-lis rug. In the middle of them was a stylish black-framed mirrored table. Throw pillows were made of those expensive silky fabrics that shone even in dim light. A lacquered gleaming black drawer stood in a corner. On top of it lay a pile of old books and a talking machine. In the other corner rested a metal floor vase with dried twigs that gave off pleasantly natural fragrant. I’d never seen a place this fancy in my life. Even the illuminated Broadway which was brilliant and colorful, for me it was blue.

Mr. Graves had instructed me to sit so I was sitting—staying _—_ in the armchair, waiting for his anxiety and energy to finally wear off. To show him that I was good, I’d sit still as long as he wanted me to. I was a master of sitting, you see? Mom often had had me sit silently for hours in the pitch-black confession room or the rats’ hunting ground.

“Why me?” Mr. Graves murmured to himself. “Why did it have to be me? What am I to his wicked scheme?”

Being an investigator, Mr. Graves never stopped finding a good answer. Mr. Graves believed that if he found the reason that he’d been taken, he would understand which kind of plot was buried in Grindelwald’s head.

The handsome host was now wearing a silk black robe over white pajamas. He’d cleaned himself up smartly, sporting close-cropped hair and dark complexion on his shaved face. Instead of feeding and getting some rest, he’d read the case file to the last page, and after that, he’d been pacing for about an hour. At times, he put his hands in the robe’s pocket. At other times he pressed his temple or touched his lower lip. Trouble and frown clouded his face. Sometimes he poised, looked up, widened his eyes with understanding. But after a few heartbeats, he started walking again, reflecting the incident, looking for an even better answer.

At long last, he turned to me, knotting his thick eyebrows.

“I wish you could speak.”

I was shuddering as the words closed in.

Mr. Graves was a positively powerful wizard. If he insisted I spoke, I believed I’d be bent to his will. But he didn’t order me to speak. He just watched me attentively for an extended moment.

“Did Grindelwald order you to kidnap me?”

I shook my form. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Mr. Graves didn’t understand that I meant no. He massaged the knot between his brows and continued his endless pacing.

This was the first time I’d ever seen Mr. Graves showed some emotions. Worry. Concern. Irritation. Grindelwald had never shown any emotions even at the times he overwhelmed me with kindness and lying dreams. I remembered now that his eyes had never spoken to me. Although the glares had been tender, his voice also sweet, the eyes had been still and so dark like a surface of placid rotten water at the bottom of a stinky well. I, a naive being too desperate, had dived into the water, drowned in the dirty hope and evenly decayed.

I knew, though, why Grindelwald had used Mr. Graves as the semblance.

I had met Grindelwald once before he elected to be Mr. Graves. He’d talked to me. I’d gotten freaked out and run away.

Mr. Graves was anything but Grindelwald. Mr. Graves was different. Noble. Reserved in a good way. He always observed the city with care.

Mr. Graves’ well-defined features and glamorous dignity on his somewhat drawn face never failed to captivate people’s eyes. Preening in his handsome apparel, all in stunning black and white, every bit of him shouted _magic_ , uncontrollably breaking the law that forced all American wizards to remain hidden. By tons of unspoken spells, which might be simply the way he carried himself up and proudly, or those striking searching dark eyes, or the thin lips bearing seriousness and a beautiful curve spreading perfectly to the lifting corners, Mr. Graves was too elegant, too poetic, to miss. Who was I to deny this sight for sore eyes when my distressing life persisted to slap my cheeks?

I’d always thought, ‘What an absolute delight!’ every time I was blessed enough to have a glimpse of him in daylight, which happened rarely because wizards didn’t get about by machines or wheels like normal people did. They teleported, an unconventional way to transport oneself as my late mother had bitterly put it.

At times, even though I’d felt very much excited at the fortuitous moments of me and Mr. Graves, his presence had driven me deep into remorse and shame, for me to be a freak, a bad burden to the good city he had been protecting. He lived in the high society so far... far away from the gloom and doom I usually sank in. All I could do was admiring the sight of him. My eyes had followed Mr. Graves everywhere when I thought he wasn’t looking. And then one day, Mr. Graves had reached out to me.

It was the best moment of my life yet despite the betraying truth and consequence that had led to Mr. Graves’ suffering.

 

 


	4. To Protect Our Own Kind

 

4.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **I** stalked into the Woolworth building at eight o’clock in the morning. My workplace was, as always, having great glory and splendor. The interior, showered by natural sunlight, was agleam as if made of gold. It boasted the neo-Gothic design, mosaics and stained glass, and amazingly strange sculpted figures mostly of those house elves who’d helped to carve the surreal beauty into reality. The cathedral-like lobby with so long an aisle led to a marble stairway at the end of the hall. Its ceiling, measuring nearly seven-hundred feet in height, showed the clear sky of New York City. Woolworth building’s grand lobby was like an angel’s meeting hall in paradise. I couldn’t forget the first day I had walked this path telling myself how thrilling it would be.

Waiting for me, however, was the investigation department jam-packed with rushing officers working cases. The room was noisy but rarely full of life. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that the job in the investigation team was horrible or just plain blah. It was interesting, very challenging but also draining and violent. Working here year after year, I had to admit that the duty had slowly tired me out.

In spite of the promising ennui, I took the elevator to my destination. My today wasn’t that boring or such a pain, though. I was secretly bringing someone clearly forbidden to this place and I was giving him a tour.

I was holding a dark gray homburg containing an even darker critter. Credence was very enthusiastic about seeing the government headquarters. He was glowing and boldly climbed up almost out of the hat to marvel at the house elves and the clock tower. Even though he hadn’t a face, I interpreted his expression as eye-widening.

 

The little guy had had the same reaction yesterday when I urged him to look around my hotel room. Alice turned upside-down and fell into Wonderland. He carefully, slowly explored and avoided bumping into anything from the talking machine that played itself to the cheap books I had bought when I traveled to Europe. Some were magical items. Some were equally miraculous creations of No-Majs such as the air-cooling system, the steel pipes that transported freezing brine inside the wall of the building keeping the entire hotel at seventy degrees. The Ansonia was the first to offer this invention of future.

The Obscurus was very keen when I suggested visiting Central Park to see the animals. I promised I would take him. But when I said that I’d never seen anyone so eager to go to Central Park, he suddenly became motionless. I might have embarrassed him so I changed the mood by taking him to the kitchen.

Although, the hotel offered the services of professional chefs, I preferred preparing my own meal. I didn’t own a house-elf. I condemned the practice. Keeping house-elves was no different than slavery and should be prohibited.

We, wizards and No-Majs alike, had adapted to the New World and later the new century. Hand in hand, everybody was walking toward improvement and civilization. No-Majs had abolished the brutal slavery years ago, giving every person the freedom he or she deserved. Sadly, the wizard society had yet to be interested in adopting the same idea. Presently, elf slavery was legally running. Although most of us in America had dropped the practice, some family including the government still owned many elves. The elves could be kept, sold, and punished at the mercy of their masters.

It wasn’t that house-elf owners were greater than their elves. And it wasn’t that the elves were incapable of being independent. These slave owners knew very well, that they were the weaker of the two kinds. Afraid that the table would be turned if they gave the poor elves equality, at all cost... they refused to set their elves free.

Though I was tired, I waved my wand and set everything in motion. Chef’s knife chopped fresh mushroom, red bell pepper, onion, and cooked chicken breasts into cubed shape. All jumped into the heating chicken broth, butter, and flour. The ingredients were stirred by an invisible spatula. After the last addition of heavy cream seasoned with salt and pepper, Chicken a la King was ready to be eaten on square puff pastry. Thank Paracelsus, Credence seemed impressed. Happily, he came to sit with me at the dining table. I told him about Woolworth and ended up promising to bring him along.

 

Tina Goldstein was burying herself with case files. She looked up when she heard her co-workers greet me. She smiled. I hadn’t expected to see Tina here but it looked like she’d managed to escape Abernathy’s harassment and been welcome back to the investigation team.

“Good morning, Mr. Graves.” Tina greeted me. “How is your health?”

“Good morning, Tina.” I surveyed the lit room. There was no one else I’d better talk to. Tina Goldstein and her sincerity were the best choice. I had never told anyone but truthfully I always liked Tina. She was polite and hard-working, only that her kindness made her stubborn.

“May I ask you something? Who is in charge of Grindelwald’s case?”

“Madam President is seeing to it herself,” Tina answered. “But she let me do the humdrum part.”

“Documents.”

“Exactly.”

We all hated writing reports. Being the department head offered me the advantage of avoiding writing ones.

I sat down and asked her a lot about the case. Tina’s story was more thorough than the case file. She was directly involved, not only she had been there when Grindelwald was arrested, Tina had suspected that Grindelwald wanted the Obscurus since the moment the dark wizard in disguise interrogated a British wizard named Newton Scamander. The interrogation resulted in the execution of them both. Grindelwald wanted to use Obscurus, said Tina. The criminal had asked Scamander how to use it.

Tina also knew a great deal about the Second Salemers.

She told me that Mary Lou Barebone had adopted two girls and a boy from the families with magical descent, so that she could brainwash them to hate witchcraft. To contemn their own kind. The kids had been strictly raised and would be punished severely if they broke any rules. The oldest girl, Chastity Barebone, had followed her mother’s step. She’d loathed witchcraft as much as she’d loathed her siblings—Credence and Modesty. Credence, the oldest of the three, had repeatedly been physically abused by his mother. So, Modesty, most of the time, had kept to herself and followed the rules to avoid being scourged.

No wonder Credence had never been to Central Park not to mention experienced the beauty of life. If Mary Lou Barebone wasn’t dead right now, I would have to teach that woman a lesson or two and put her away from any children forever.

Sadly, the innocent boy had been forced to be a murderer.

Upon learning that the boy was the Obscurial and that he had murdered a No-Maj, MACUSA had attacked him. Fortunately, the Aurors had failed to execute him or we would have killed _a kid,_ for Rappaport’s sake! Shame on us for even trying. No, I didn’t think that what Credence had done was righteous. But Credence was just a kid and a kid didn’t deserve the merciless cursing squad.

Tina had tried to help the poor boy. She had used magic to protect him from his mother. When the Congress heard about what she had done, Tina was immediately demoted.

That was it. The consequence of being too kind.

Her punishment declared how blind _we_ could be.

“Modesty has never hurt Credence. She even protected him from their mother, so she wasn’t killed on December seventh. We are searching for her. But the girl is a witch. Searching could be difficult if she doesn’t want to be found.” Tina told me.

“Keep searching.”

She nodded firmly. “I will.”

“Tina, I am so ashamed for once I feared exposure of wizard society to the extent that I forgot what the laws were for.” _To protect people._ “Hiding isn’t enough and isn’t protecting. Although I hate to admit that Grindelwald is right about anything.”

Tina beamed at me. “I’m glad we have you back, Mr. Graves.”

The conversation was getting embarrassing so I changed the subject. “How can I contact this guy Scamander?”

“He went back to England. Why?”

“I want to ask him about Obscurus.”

Tina squinted suspiciously. “I thought only Grindelwald wanted to know that.”

“I just want to ask him if Obscurus eats.”

Tina lifted her right brow. I looked at my hat and saw that Credence was pacing back and forth in it. “And, whether there is a baby Obscurus or something.”

She glared at me like I was crazy. I kept my face stoic.

Tina laughed. “I don’t think there would be a baby Obscurus, Mr. Graves. But if you want to talk to Newt, he’ll be in New York City for New Year’s Day. He’ll arrive here tomorrow.”

“He’ll be here for New Year’s Day?”

Tina’s cheeks flushed with rosy color. I didn’t have to guess.

Before I excused myself, I looked inside the hat again.

Credence was gone.

 

 


	5. The New Year’s Eve

5.

_Credence_

 

 

 **M** r. Scamander wouldn’t arrive on the next day as Miss Goldstein had mentioned. He had arrived.

Mr. Scamander had boarded the Olympic two days before Christmas and, five days later, just gotten off the gigantic ocean liner at noon. Upon his arrival, Mr. Scamander went to his American friend’s bakery at Orchard street.

The business was in full-swing. Mr. Scamander was delighted to find the pastries made in the shape of his beasts very popular among housewives and children. There, in the back room, he let me out of the bag to be greeted by nervous Mr. Jacob Kowalski and joyous Miss Goldstein (the younger one).

I was glad I’d arrived at the bakery in time to unite with my bigger portion. Otherwise, the good wizard would have known that I’d sneaked away from the safety of his bag for an illegal journey to meet Mr. Graves. He wouldn’t scold me, no. Mr. Scamander was very kind and beyond understanding. He was good to me as he was good to the other creatures he was keeping in his bag. But if he’d found out that I’d escaped, he would have asked two questions I didn’t have an answer on: Why did you come back to New York and what else can you do with the dark power that inhabits your body?

Mr. Scamander stayed with Mr. Kowalski on the second floor of the bakery. I had to be in human form because Mr. Scamander didn’t let me get back in the bag. He said that I didn’t have to be afraid anymore. All No-Majs had forgotten about the incident. No one was going to come after me, not even Henry Shaw Senior whose son had been savagely bumped off by my rage. I should make friends, starting from the kindhearted baker and his beautiful girlfriend, instead of crawled back into the shadow. I should learn how to control my problematic power, and learn to trust and to love these nice people. Trusting and loving again were two things I didn’t believe that I was capable of, although Mr. Scamander strongly had faith in me.

Miss Tina (the ladies had told me to call them by their first names) came to the shop in the evening and we all enjoyed a late Christmas party. I avoided Miss Queenie at all cost because I knew that she could read my mind. But I failed miserably for an entire time. She bombarded me with her charm and harmless questions. Mr. Kowalski and Miss Queenie fed me until I was crammed with potatoes, turkey, and pie. Everybody except me exchanged laughter, embraces, and gifts. The ladies gave me a lovely boater with a blue striped ribbon around the crown. I felt so awful not giving them anything in return but Miss Queenie assured me that everything was totally fine.

Before we said goodnight, Mr. Scamander told me that he’d introduce me to someone.

 

On New Year’s Eve, Mr. Scamander brought Miss Tina Goldstein and me to a Chinese restaurant called Chinese Tuxedo on Doyers Street. Three of us were queasy. Mr. Scamander and Miss Tina were nervous because this was their first date. They hardly met each other’s eyes but I could see that they kept stealing a glance at their handsome date. I, instead, was the third wheel and in the cold sweat because of the reputation of Chinatown.

I’d lived nearby but never visited Chinatown. But I’d heard an earful about it. The neighborhood’s fame rested on not only local restaurants and tea parlors but also rumors of opium dens, gambling and violent disputes between gangs. I shared my anxiety with Mr. Scamander. The magizoologist soothed me saying that I should not feel frightened because the frightened me was way _frightening_ than a tong war.

The two-floor restaurant was just down the street. Its facade was decorated with an elegant wood carving of strange creatures that bore a strong resemblance to Occamies. Inside the restaurant, Chinese arts, golden wood moldings, and a fountain were installed to draw the exotic atmosphere. We were greeted by a mouth-watering smell of Chinese cuisine and a round-faced small man who spoke not fluent English. The man showed us our table.

Sitting there in his splendor, wearing a black three-button suit and a pair of moody eyebrows, was Mr. Graves.

“Good evening, Mr. Graves. I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.” Miss Tina breathlessly uttered. She introduced her date and me to her director.

Mr. Graves shook Mr. Scamander’s hand while I was picking at my new boater apprehensively. When I looked up, Mr. Graves’ eyes were on me.

I lost my appetite.

 

 


	6. Three Forks and a Pair of Chopsticks

 

 

6.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **T** ina and the others had never eaten Chinese food let alone reading the menu and reckoning what an Egg foo young or Lo mein was, thus I, who’d recommended that we dined at Chinese Tuxedo, had to order for four of us. The dishes and drinks were flowing to our table while a casual conversation about the difference between British and American magical societies was going on and on.

The meal consisted of omelet stuffed with vegetables and meat covered with brown gravy, sliced steak stir-fried featuring fresh green bell peppers and onions, mild tasted soup with wrapped minced pork and spices and, the last dish, deep-fried rolls served along with the sweet plum sauce. The food was exceptionally delectable. And don’t forget a lot of dim sum in steamed baskets brought to us in a cart!

Customers dined at round tables. Some were having difficulty picking up bite-sized dim sum using two thin sticks or chopsticks. So were us, except, of course, me. I taught my companions to eat like Chinese with little success. Finally, Tina asked the waiter for forks and that solved the problem.

Tina was mostly quiet but bolder and happier than her usual self. Tonight, She smiled more often than she did at the office. Her beau though was very strange. He was kind of socially awkward and soft-spoken. Mr. Scamander never met my eyes when he talked to me. Nevertheless, he was an intelligent young man who knew a good deal about magizoology. And, according to the story I’d heard about him fighting Grindelwald leading to the successful arrest, Mr. Scamander had to be an exceptionally smart and strong wizard.

The British young man shared the story about Hogwarts and the first time he’d been there. I nodded in admiration when I heard that he’d been sorted into Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff’s members valued most loyalty and dedication. They were hard-working, peaceful, honest and talented as much as the next man, but feeling less competitive made the rest of the school thought that the kids belonging to this house were incompetent. That was unfair and completely untrue because Hufflepuff was producing a fair share of great witches and wizards including British Ministers for Magic. The fine-looking package made of a kind heart and courage was a godsend to us all.

Mr. Scamander had been devoting himself to finding and taking care of magical creatures. He’d been protecting them and breeding ones that were facing the danger of extinction. Mr. Scamander wanted to publish a book about these beasts. He wished that people would find them lovable than horrid. His hard work was starting to pay off as his book about fantastic beasts and where to find them was in progress. I respected his faith as much as his knowledge. However, making a remark on his belief, I said that it might be too difficult for his future readers to perceive things like he did.

In his eyes, even Graphorns were cuddlesome.

Mr. Scamander smiled broadly and pointed to his suitcase. Of course, he had to bring his _barn_ to the dinner.

“If you are interested, you can hop in now and cuddle one. I’ll show you around,” the young man offered excitedly.

My eyes wandered to the beast I’d ever cuddled, though I wasn’t sure if the red-faced Obscurial sitting beside me was the same lost child whom I’d taken home the other day. Credence hadn’t spoken a word since he arrived. He hadn’t eaten much too. He sat with his shoulder hunched, eyes casting down all the while.

“Boy, you don’t eat well.” I voiced my concern. All eyes were on me including the boy’s. “Does the food not suit your taste? If it’s that case, let’s order something that’s more to your liking.”

I didn’t expect Credence’s face to become even redder but it did. He quietly uttered, “All are sumptuous, sir.”

But he wasn’t faring! So I picked a shrimp dumpling with my chopsticks and placed it on his empty plate. For an unknown reason, Credence looked miserable as if he were punched in the gut. He winced and, though only once, whimpered. The boy slowly prodded at the dumpling with his fork, scooped it up and ate it. I gave him a sesame ball next. Credence’s cheeks were flushing a shade darker but he took the offering without protest.

Young Mr. Scamander and Tina seemed astonished. Watching me feeding Credence, Mr. Scamander bit his lower lip.

“Mr. Graves,” Mr. Scamander started, “I’m surprised and very much curious.”

I frowned at him.

“Don’t you have anything to say about Credence?”

My brows pulled down into a scowl. “For instance?”

“Like, is it proper to bring Credence here?”

“I don’t think it’s proper to bring children here given the reputation of Chinatown.” I looked daggers at my subordinate. “If I’d known that you’d bring him, I wouldn’t have chosen this place.”

Tina suppressed her smile. “Mr. Graves, I think Newt means bringing Credence back to New York. Oh, and I don’t want Madam President to know about this. Please don’t tell her.”

Credence fisted his fork and bent down. He wouldn’t meet my eyes now. Great.

“I reckon he won’t be troubling if he doesn’t feel upset.”

“He won’t.” Mr. Scamander sharply promised. “Credence is a good boy.”

“I asked Newt to bring Credence along because you seemed interested in Obscurus.” Tina explained. “Newt also thought that it might be good for him to meet you. I mean, the real you, Mr. Graves, so that Credence would know that you weren’t that heartless man.”

“I…” Credence said quietly. “I know.”

Did he know because I was giving him food just now? Or did he know because he’d been in my room, sat on my shoulder, and slept in my bed?

“Tina told me you wanted to ask me about Obscurus’ diet.” Mr. Scamander interrupted. “Why?”

I lifted my brow. “I intended to keep one, didn’t I?” I frowned accusingly at Credence. The boy still wasn’t returning my gaze but I knew he felt the weight of my glower. His shoulders were shuddering and even more hunched. “I searched for him everywhere.”

I’d searched for him. From the investigation office and the rest of the headquarters back to my hotel room. I’d started again from my hotel room to everywhere I could think of. I’d gone to the ruin of Second Salem Church and next to every street and corner where his departed mother had ever preached. I’d called out his name but all my shouting had been to no avail.

Mr. Scamander was quiet. But after a few seconds, he turned to behold Credence and then back at me. His eyes became wide and sparkling like a boy receiving a Christmas tree. “You mean when Grindelwald disguised himself as you or—?”

“Yes. What else do you think I’m talking about, Mr. Scamander?” I solemnly responded to his question with my mouth corners curving downward.

Mr. Scamander lost the spark in his eyes. “I thought… Never mind.” He sighed. “I appreciate your humor, Mr. Graves.” He didn’t appear appreciative.

After I’d paid for the dinner, Mr. Scamander escorted his date to watch the little fountain in the middle of the floor. I was preparing to leave when Credence stood up. He forgot that he’d placed his hat on his lap so the hat fell on the floor. Credence trembled down to pick it up but I was faster.

The boy looked very tense now. His dark eyes were sad as if he was afraid that his fine boater in my hand would be torn apart. His breath halted. His body was rigid. I sensed the fear in the air and regretted picking up the hat. I didn’t intend to make him uncomfortable.

I gave him back his hat, fixing it on his head. His skin was so pale and fair I could clearly see his cheeks burn.

I threw a brief glance at the beautiful couple at the fountain. They didn’t get bored of the very boring fountain. Tina was smiling so I didn’t want to bother them with my departing. “Say goodnight to them for me, will you?”

Credence gulped. His eyes were glistening with the glint of tears. He couldn’t bring himself to nod. Or to shake his head.

“If you keep making that face, everyone will think I’m harassing you,” I said softly, with a little bit of annoyance. I’d tried to be nice to him all evening. Why was he making that face?

I pinched the brim of his hat. “Goodbye, son.”

The Obscurial looked like he was on the verge of tears.

 

 


	7. Black Ivy

 

7.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **I** woke up in the middle of the night. It was supposed to be a cold night but the room was too warm for the last day of December. I tossed the blanket off. I scratched my neck. I pulled the collar of my pajamas, fumbled blindly at the buttons trying to get the top off. Sweat started to run down my forehead and the side of my neck. I groaned in disgust. What the heck was going on? I opened my eyes, thinking about getting up to see what had gone wrong with the damned winter.

Usually, there always was starlight coming in from the window, but now the room was pitch-black. I stuck my hand under the pillow to get my wand while narrowing my eyes trying to see through the shadow. The room was completely dark and so still I could hear a pin drop. I listened to the ringing in my head. For a while, it was like I was lying in a void, a space without stars.

Or in a too-warm grave.

Eventually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Let’s see what was wrong with the ceiling and the wall.

The ceiling was taken up by a black substance that looked like oil or black muck. It undulated, rising and falling similarly to the behavior of a calm ocean at night. Its red core was glowing like the eye of a sea monster. That thing extended its thick limbs and let them creep down the wall and the windows, like black ivy plants growing out of control. As it enlarged, the air grew heavier and heavier. My eyes became wide as I shuddered and struggled for breath.

I knew what this being was.

A gigantic Obscurus.

The black muck lowered itself from the ceiling to hover close to my face. I stuttered, not sure if I should open my mouth to cast a spell because the black limb was close enough to gag me if I dared say a word. I shifted my eyes to the wand in my hand. The muck noticed my act. It angrily fanned out and swarmed down to attack, violently smacking the wand off my hand. It swallowed me into its oil-like arms and threw me up, my face almost hit the red core.

I kicked my legs. I tried to get away, pushing the beast back by magic. My desperation only cost me more freedom. The black monster was fuming. It flowed and growled. The arms wrapped tightly around my wrists, my chest, and my hip, holding me in the air. One of the creepy branches brushed my nose longingly and traveled lower. It pushed against the softness of my mouth. I firmly pressed my lips together.

I didn’t know what was happening. The one and only Obscurial that was in New York right now was Credence Barebone. Credence wouldn’t hurt me, or so I believed. He wouldn’t invade my home. _Unless_. he was feeling very distressed and aggrieved. Because of what? Had I done anything to put him off this evening? Even if this was really Credence, I didn’t know why he came here nor whether I would be able to calm him down. But I was going to try my luck. I tilted my head to avoid the black branch that was attacking my mouth. “Credence?”

The Obscurus froze. The red core fixed on me so I knew that he was listening.

“Why are you doing this, Credence? Are you upset?”

The black fluid body quivered.

“Do you hate me, Credence?”

It shook again but more slowly. The tight feeling on my wrists was loosened.

“Is there something upsetting you? Why don’t you change back into your human form, son, so that we can talk about your problem?” I soothed him. “I can help you.”

As if being offended, the core was growling and twitching. Heavy air lashed on my face. I closed my eyes and let the pain sear my skin. I didn’t understand why ‘I can help you’ didn’t work. But I knew now that if I failed to calm him down, I could get killed instantly.

“Look. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to talk. We can just drink cocoa and come back to bed.”

Credence thought about the offer.

Finally, he let go of my wrists. He laid me down on the mattress and then got back to haunting the ceiling. I put both of my hands up and called him. “Credence, don’t you want a cup of cocoa?”

That seemed to do the trick.

The black muck slowly crawled down the wall and turned into a human shape, hugging his legs with the hunched back against the wall. I hurriedly climbed down the bed and walked to him.

Credence’s face was pale. His body was shaking. He opened his mouth but couldn’t quite form a word.

“I… I... I’m,” the boy faltered.

“Shh...” I soothed him and helped him get on his feet.

Credence let me lead him to the bed. I tucked him in and crawled in beside him. I was so tired and, seeing Credence drooping eyelids, I bet he felt tired as much. The air became lighter and the temperature dropped to the usual winter night. I drew the boy into my arms and pulled the blanket over. Credence nudged against my bare chest. We silently closed our eyes.

Sleep came to both of us easily.

 

 


	8. Take It or Leave It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing I want to state here except that I wrote this chapter for half a day and my back hurts. T v T  
> Enjoy, everyone.

 

8.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **I** was woken up by the warm breath blowing my neck and the hard body pressing on my right. The Upper West Side was dark save for the trail of moonlight streaming down the street as peacefully as water flowing through a timid creek.

Credence was sleeping soundly, using my right arm as a pillow. He draped his arm and his leg over my body. The boy was wearing a suit, a shirt, and a necktie. Usually, the fabric of worn-out clothes became thin and soft but his suit, though looked old and old-fashioned, hadn’t. The fabric was as thick and rough as a brick walkway. The jacket felt scratchy against my chest. The pants were so stiff I was amazed he could move his legs. I groped for the wand but I couldn’t find it anywhere in the untidy bed so I used my bare hand to magically switch Credence’s clothes to my plaid flannel pajamas, the nightshirt friendlier to the skin so fair. I chose the blue ones for him.

Credence sighed at the fineness of the soft woven material and snuggled into me even more closely. He nestled his nose into my neck and inhaled. He was still fast asleep. I bent my right arm to touch him. The fingertips, moving on their own, played the hem of his shirt and then traveled up the curve of his waist to his hunched shoulder.

I closed my eyes as my fingertips idly circled between the round of his shoulder and the nape of his neck. I had lost count of the times over the years I had lain in bed alone, enveloped by endless weariness and longing.

 

I’d known women in my earlier years. I hadn’t known why they had bored the pants off me. It might be the courting. It might be the vanilla sex. It might be just because they and their red lips didn’t excite me. The courtships never lasted than a month and later the period reduced to half a week. When I was confronted by the question of why I had broken off the relationship with them, I told the ladies it just didn’t work for me.

Not only my bachelorhood attracted more women whom I had to discourage, it also attracted annoying relatives. I was pressed repetitively to get married and was introduced to more women. So, I told them frankly that I had no interest to wed. After that, I dedicated myself to my job and avoided the stupid engagement pressures entirely.

I should have told them, that I just didn’t love women enough. That instead of being born with the desire to please the ladies, I’d been cursed to yearn for something I dared not spell out, something whom I hadn’t yet found because I wasn’t bold enough to seek.

I lived off masturbation for months until I’d had enough. I wanted something on me, something else not as predictable and cold as my right hand.

Fairy prostitution wasn’t uncommon but I couldn’t imagine myself being about hustler bars or brothels picking up fairies. And even though I’d never had sex with one, I guessed the effeminate streetwalkers, like women, would fail to arouse me sexually. Instead, I patrolled the back alleys of Manhattan looking for a young man with the masculine presence that was willing to _trade_.

Straight hustler or straight-acting hustler was the new form of prostitution. The hustlers, most of them young male No-Majs, occasionally offered sexual pleasure to make ends meet. They weren’t hard to find in the narrow backstreets dressing in working-class overall and puffing on a cigarette. I always cast a spell to make the male prostitute and me invisible before pursuing a trade.

Very soon, my man part would be drawn into a wet mouth and curling cigarette smoke.

Usually, the straight-acting hustlers only took the man’s role, or so I’d heard from one of them. But I didn’t feel safe enough to take the passive role with any hustlers so I only asked for a hand job or a blowjob. Asking for an oral sex was a risky move for some clientele but I’d never been turned down. Not even once. The boys usually dropped to their knees and blithely took my whole length. After the service, I paid them and modified their memory. Just to be careful.

Woe never failed to enfold me as I walked out of the back alley with my head held high while secretly jesting at myself that I, out of lust and loneliness, had shamelessly paid for a temporary love. A connection. Or whatsoever it was. Not only I had to hide my magical nature from the society, I also had to hide my desire for men.

_What choice do I have?_

_What choice do I have?_

I’d asked myself a thousand times.

How worthless my power was if I couldn’t use it to make this world easier for my kind to live.

I should stop before it ruined me but I couldn’t shake the habit off. To stop having sex with men was nothing but denying who I was. Stopping meant _I_ didn’t exist. Stopping would drive me crazy. Despite everything, I swore to God I wouldn’t go back to pretending that I was normal. Pretending that nothing was wrong. Dating women, seeking pleasure in the opposite sex, I couldn’t do those things anymore. I wouldn’t even try again. Just thinking about them made me want to throw up.

One day, on a street of the West Bronx, I was called by a young man in a black suit. The young man was holding handbills in his hand. His appearance was exactly the same as the pretty boy who was cuddling to my side. _Credence_. I remembered him humbly calling me ‘Mister’ and flatly asked me if I wanted his service. I didn’t recognize Credence back then. Alarmed but intrigued, I followed him into the shadow of the dirty backstreet to the dead end. The young man turned his face and sneered at me. Something was off, I told myself just before he abruptly hit my head to the wall. I fought back. The young man gestured his hand, sent me and the handbills flying and threw me against the wall.

Grindelwald might have been stalking me for some time so he knew. He knew that I would follow him straightly into the trap.

It was a smart move to use Credence’s appearance. The boy looked every bit an innocent lost child. Humble. Mild-mannered. And clean. The shaved fair skin was very pleasing to watch. Although his expression was that of a troubled child but, despite living in poverty, he was tall and built like a fully grown man. He had mysterious dark eyes that, when averting, called for a pursuit, and perfectly curved lips that begged to entangle in many different types of kisses.

Slow and tender.

Impatient and desperate.

Or wet and loud and lewd.

Only when I met the real Credence that I realized Grindelwald hadn’t played the part right.

Credence always cast his eyes downward as if he was afraid to be scolded for being a part of the world. He hunched his shoulders in order to stay small and out of sight but instead, his gesture was deemed ridiculous and pathetic. The eyes of the young man I’d met in the Bronx were too rigid and too observing they were scary. Credence only watched his feet and his feet made him terrified.

 

 

 

I’d been lost in thought until I heard a whimper and a shuddering breath. When had the first light set in? I hadn’t noticed. Credence was awake. My body suddenly felt cold when he pulled his arm and leg back. I stopped caressing him and let go of his neck, mumbling ‘Sorry’ for the act I absolutely didn’t feel sorry about. I’d relished every delicious second.

Credence didn’t say anything. He bent his knees and curled up. I thought he wanted to shift away so I straightened my arm giving him the free pass to swing to the other side of the bed. Credence’s body was shaking but he didn’t move. His head was still resting on my arm.

“Are you scared of me?” I asked.

Credence shook his head and again, the whimper escaped his throat. He turned and looked up. His eyelashes were so… so... close to my face, his lips almost touched my stubbly chin. I would call this a seduction if I didn’t know better.

“Then, what are you shaking and crying for, hmm?” I asked. “I’m not going to scold you for breaking into my house.”

And I wasn’t going to scold him for cuddling up with me either.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves.” Credence apologized quietly.

“No need to although I want to know why you came.”

But the other thing occupied Credence’s thought. He glanced down at the pajamas which he was wearing with wide eyes. He rested on his side and curled almost into a ball. “What am I wearing?”

“Pajamas. Don’t worry. I didn’t change your clothes manually. I just cast a spell on you.”

He nodded. “I… I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves.”

The non-stop apology started to annoy me. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I’m a disgrace, sir.”

His answer confused me to no end.

The next answer explained better.

“I think I stained your pajamas.”

The first instinct said the boy had wet his pants but he was beyond that age. Credence was curling into a ball because he was trying to hide something from me.

Something like a morning wood?

And my caressing didn’t do him any good.

My perverted brain, instead of trying to handle the awkward situation, tried to recall if I’d felt any hard cock humping my thigh earlier. _Great_.

“It’s fine, Credence,” I told him.

He shook his head. His face flushed as the embarrassment consumed him. “Mom said that I was a disgrace whenever she caught me with this sickness. Mom and Chastity refused to touch my bed sheet even after I washed the crusty spots off it.”

I roared with anger. “Your mom knew nothing. It’s normal and it isn’t a sickness.”

“Do you have it too, sir?”

Yes! I was sporting morning wood mostly every day. “Of course, son.”

“What do you do about it?” He sounded hopeful. “I had to hide in my room in the morning but sometimes Mom persistently demanded my presence. I was so scared. If she saw this, she would punish me with the belt.”

I sprang up from the bed, abruptly pulling my arm away so Credence’s head fell on the mattress. Credence was startled. I turned to him. “She beat you because you had a morning erection?”

Credence nodded.

I saw red.

I was going to kill that bitch. She was so dead but I was still going to kill her anyway. For abusing her child and ridiculing his manhood. What had she told Credence while she was whipping him with the belt? To stop being a man? She should be glad that she wasn’t breathing or she would have to deal with my rage.

I calmed myself down and I assured the poor boy. “Remember this. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Morning erection is common among men.”

Not only, morning wood, Credence was also sporting a bedhead. His black hair was messy and out of place.

It was so cute.

“I will leave you to it.” I swung my legs to the side of the bed. He hurriedly sat up too. I waved. “No. You stay in bed.”

Credence blinked. “But… I’ll wash your pajamas, sir.”

I regarded him for a long moment. “Don’t worry about the pajamas. Take care of that thing in your pants first.”

“Take care? You didn’t tell me what to do about it.”

Normally, I walked around a bit to get it down. No one had the heart and fantasy to masturbate every day. I’d lost count of times I’d jerked off since puberty. Sometimes I didn’t want to do it at all. Credence was still young and full of energy… but given that he’d had that kind of mother... “Don’t you ever touch it?”

“I do. But it doesn’t help. Feels weird too.”

“You have to think about someone you like.” I couldn’t believe I was giving a lecture about masturbation.

He thought hard. “Like Mr. Scamander, sir?”

I was shocked by his answer but a second later the boy set me straight. “Or Miss Tina? I like her too.”

“No. I mean a girl you like.”

Credence frowned. “Modesty?”

I pressed my temple. “Don’t you have someone who you think is very attractive and sexy.”

Credence was confused. He dropped his gaze, clenching the blanket and biting his lower lip, and then he looked at me. “You, sir?”

_He thinks that I’m sexy?_

What a big pervert I was to feel aroused by an innocent answer. I tore my eyes from his and rubbed my cheek uncomfortably. “I mean... I’m sorry… I mean you should think about someone whom you like, want to kiss, want to have sex with, and you imagine you do those things with her.”

Credence’s eyes were on my face. On my bare chest, and down. Then on my face again.

No.

_Is this a test or something?_

I wouldn’t mind if I failed.

No.

I hugged myself. I wasn’t going to reach over and take advantage of a confused boy. Not so _confused_ now, wasn’t he? Because I saw the lust flick across his face. But I wasn’t going to lay my hands on him. Period. It just wasn’t right. Worry (about my self-control) might show all over my face. Credence took it in but he mistook my expression as distaste so, his face became pale. The boy gulped and whispered an apology, thinking that he was rejected.

Thinking that he was a freak.

I knew the feeling when I saw one. I swallowed it down every day.

I placed my left knee on the mattress and bent forward to rub the back of his neck. Credence lifted his face. His handsome face brightened. He tilted his head into my touch, closed his eyes and purred when my thumb tickled his earlobe. Adoration swelled in my chest. I moved my hand caressing his jaw and placed my thumb putting pressure on his tempting Cupid’s bow. He parted his lips and let me in.

All was laid in front of me, waiting for me to take as much as I could.

 

 


	9. Brittle

 

 

 

9.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **I** climbed onto the bed, onto Credence, breathing in a juicy fragrance of temptation. Credence rested his hands on the mattress and kicked his legs, shifting further into the bed to give me space to crawl into. Scared and excited, he watched my every move as I watched his. He probably didn’t know that I was scared too.

I’d never brought any man to my bed. I’d never shared any intimate moment with anyone. By _intimate_ , I meant giving as much as taking, loving and being loved, no pretending, no reservation, lusting after each other completely without a sense of direction. The trades in the back alleys didn’t count. There had never been any tenderness involved. Those exchanges were just pills, for me and for the young streetwalkers, to cope with an illness called life.

I was dying to be wrapped in arms, that wouldn’t let go even if I was stripped bare of power and wealth, of a person who would hold me, listen to me even when I, the old worn-out man, didn’t say anything fancy nor smart. Hopelessly, I was yearning for a person who didn’t want me to be anything I hadn’t been born to be— _a God fearing man_.

I caught the boy’s ankle just before his back hit the headboard. The cold angle resisted, but given a few second and gentle caresses, Credence relaxed. I lay on my side and drew him into my arms. As he moved closer and closer into my embrace, his dreamy eyes became wider and wider. His lower lip slightly hung open. He fitted into me perfectly like a chick in my palms.

A God fearing man would not want to lie with another man. A God fearing man would not want to corrupt a boy.

I wanted.

I touched Credence’s face and he melted into me. His tongue flicked over his red lips, heartening to be licked.

I tried to convince myself that Credence was just a misguided boy mistaking a wolf for the mother goat. He didn’t know the real me. Earlier as I’d looked at my reflection on the luster of his worshiping eyes, I’d seen a man very decent, very noble. An unreal skin I’d been putting on for years for my own protection.

I’d seen a lie.

I was weak and nothing but weak. Loneliness and cowardice that grew in my bleeding heart, I let them lead me straightly to an abomination every day.

Credence was gorgeous. I was afraid that I would be blinded by his innocence and youth. My fingers tickled the fairness of his pale neck as my eyes jumped across his body to ogle the seductive bulge between his legs. I warned myself that I should stop and talk _us_ out of this, but instead, I shut my eyes to principles and consequences. Credence moaned softly. Boy, that didn’t help. Dirty desire blossomed in my chest. My heart throbbed so fast my hands started to tremble.

When hunger and God’s created order collided, the good man died.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward to peck his lips. We touched only in a mere second but even after I let go, I stayed close. I felt his shuddering breath blowing on my face. Credence slowly opened his eyes and blinked at me. I lifted my eyebrow. Credence widened his eyes and blushed.

I wanted this boy very naked and defiled.

I climbed on top of him and attacked his mouth again, this time with less decency. I bit his lower lip and licked. Credence kissed me back enthusiastically. The boy opened up. He pressed into me and hummed in ecstasy when I stuck my tongue inside him. Credence sucked it. My other limb grew harder while our tongues tangled in a wonderful mess.

I placed my right elbow on the mattress to support my weight. The other hand unbuttoned Credence’s shirt. While we were smooching, I fondled the boy’s chest, brushing over his nipple, having Credence inhale sharply. His legs jerked. I teased the nipples several more times. I played with them, rubbing and pinching until they were erect and red, taking pleasure in every jump the boy produced.

Credence squirmed for breath. I let go of his lips and replaced my hand on his chest with my kisser. I sucked and curled my tongue on his sensitive nipples. Credence moaned and instinctively grabbed the back of my head. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders. One of his hands pulled the hair on the back of my head out of need. I ran my hand along the bulge in his pants. Got an approving hitch. So I pulled the pants down a little. My hand sneaked into the pants to gentle him, stroking his length and fondling his balls.

Credence spread his legs. He arched into my touch and moaned very suggestively. Craving for more skin-to-skin, he threw one leg on my hip. I moved up to take over his mouth again and thrust my hip into his. I rocked my lower part, rubbing our erections together. But it was difficult to move with the pants on. So I flipped Credence on his side and pressed against his rear. Credence cried out and tried to turn around. I calmed him with light kisses on the nape of his neck and a whisper promising that I would make him feel very... very good.

I slid my left hand up and down his shaft. My right hand again stimulated those sensitive spots on his bare chest that were still hard and wet from the kisses. Credence thrust his hip into my fist as I was running it hard and fast. I couldn’t help rubbing my cock to his ass but I wanted to focus on him more than my own need even though my body was burning with pure lust.

“Mister... Graves…” My name crept out of his mouth with a moan so intoxicating. His breath, short and heavy, became sweet gasps. I groaned in response. I abruptly pulled him to my chest, his ass against my erection. I stroked him harder and faster. The nape of his neck was too close, too tempting, so I bit down. Credence cried out and released in my hand. I pumped him, exhausted him, until he couldn’t do anything except lying helplessly in the mess he’d made.

“Attaboy,” I whispered. Still groping his spent cock simply because I liked the feeling of it, I kissed the boy on the back and buried my nose behind his ear to take in a lungful of his sweaty scent. Credence sighed through his lips. With a little encouragement, Credence rolled onto his back. His cheeks heated up again the instant he saw my face.

His brows pulled down into a worried knot. “I think I stained your pajamas.”

I chuckled at his endless concern on the pajamas. “I made you, didn’t I?”

Credence felt shy but he still had the heart to check on me. After seeing that I was in the state that his late mother would regard as shameless, the boy looked at me with blurry eyes and gave me an alluring offer. “Don’t you want me to do the same thing to you, sir?”

The same thing.

Anything.

With just one touch, I’d come like a teenager.

I painfully gulped down a yes-please and kissed his forehead.

“No, my boy. You get some rest.”

 

 


	10. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone. : )

 

10.

_Credence_

 

 

 

 **A** bar of sunlight woke me up. I opened my eyes to find myself cocooned in a wool blanket. Alone. I was wearing the same pajamas as before. The blue pajamas were clean, smelling like fresh leaves and gardenias. The dirty spots were gone. So was Mr. Graves. The empty pillow and the dim bedroom sent a feeling of loss down my chest.

I heard a click come from the door connected to the bathroom. The doorknob turned and slowly the black door swung open. There was no one behind the door and there was absolutely no wind in the room to blow the door open. Wait. Even a gust of wind couldn’t turn a doorknob! This phenomenon was either caused by a ghost or, that’s right... magic.

I wriggled my way out of the woolen cocoon and stalked into the bathroom.

The bathroom was a piece of art. The floor was made of black and white tiles in many shapes. The wall was also made of ceramic tiles. Piece by piece, the tiles were laid out to appear like a white brick wall. A bronze washbasin stood on a counter that was made of gray rock and black painted wood. At the sides of the washbasin were a black metal faucet and a tray that contained rolls of white towels. A bottle of Brilliantine, a brand new toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste and a straight razor lined up in front of a double border mirror that hung from the high ceiling by thin golden chains. On the sides of the mirror were two hanging wall sconces that looked like little rustic bronze cages holding jars of fireflies.

The source of the light didn’t come from those cages alone. There was also a silver and black framed semi-flush mount near the pitch-black claw-foot tub. It painted gentle light all over the solid tiles. The tub including rectangular shower rod was placed near the wall, half covered by a white shower curtain. On the wall at the foot of the tub hooked a towel hanger and a small shelf that held a bar of Ivory soap and a bottle of shampoo.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the shower-head thought it wasn’t at all scary to pour the hot water out on its own. I rubbed my chest, looking at the four corners one more time but the room was still empty. I turned around to face the counter. My eyes popped out of my head as I was met with the unfolded towel waiting in the air.

I slowly stepped back, contemplating running or screaming. But, maybe, this bathroom was just offering me a warm bath. The bathroom door supported my thought by carefully closing itself. I breathlessly waited to be locked in but the lock never clicked into place. That meant I could get out whenever I wanted. When I looked at the counter-top again, the creamy toothpaste had already been put on the toothbrush.

I gave in.

I stripped off the blue pajamas and stepped into the bathtub. The hot water felt good on my skin. I grabbed the soap and scrubbed myself quickly. When I’d finished, I got out of the bathtub, said ‘Thank you’ to the floating towel and dried myself with it. After I’d brushed my teeth, I nakedly walked back into the bedroom and found my clothes folded neatly on the bed. I put them on.

My hair was still half dry and messy. I combed it with my fingers only to make it uglier. No matter how many times I swept it up, it persistently fell down to make me look like a retard.

I’d been self-conscious about my hair since forever. Everyone who saw my hair pointed his finger at me and laughed. I kept my face down all the time so that I didn’t have to see my ridiculers but, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get away from the laughter fast enough. I heard every sound, every snort, every snicker. It cut my face like a sharp blade slicing up my cheeks. When I heard someone laugh, I was quick to assume that the person was laughing at me and ducked my head.

I hated laughter.

How could I love it if all it had ever done was making me sick?

Yet, I hadn’t protested when Mom grabbed my hair and cut it. I’d swallowed my sadness and listened, sitting stock-still, boring into an empty space on the wall, while Mom was saying that short hair was good. Short hair attracted fewer lice. I’d bit my lips preventing myself to give my despair away.

Short hair attracted fewer lice.

Had Mom ever known that short hair attracted fewer friends too? Boys and girls of my age had said that I was a simpleton so they wanted nothing to do with me. I hadn’t told Mom that I disliked the haircut because I had been afraid that she would give me agony ten times more terrible than loneliness plus a _worse_ hairstyle.

I gave up.

All I could do was patiently waiting for my hair to grow. Mr. Graves wasn’t going to razz at me. He was too kind and decent for that rude activity. I frowned at my reflection in the mirror one more time then headed to the door.

 

I followed the rich smell of feast to the dining room. The dining set was all black like an inked spot on the white floor. The curtain was wide open to let the natural light in. The white wall was decorated with two paintings. One was the painting of the rear of a nude woman looking at the sea. The other was similar in concept but the naked pale buttock was that of an adolescent boy who was leaning against a big rock while watching his friend swim.

Mr. Graves was at the round glass-topped dining table. He was sitting cross-legged, enjoying black coffee and a daily in the black painted rattan chair, casually leaning back against a white throw pillow. His leather wand holster was on the table.

Plates, bowls, and glasses were flying out of the kitchen to set themselves on the black table. In the middle of the table, surrounding an unused candle stand, were a brown basket of bite-sized apple pies made into golden crescent shapes, a bowl of green-leaf salad, and a plate of blood-red cranberry jelly. Breakfast that had been prepared for two included wholegrain toast, tomato soup, rosemary scrambled egg, and grilled mackerel with soy lime dressing served alongside rich and creamy coleslaw. A glass, which was hovering the table playfully, turned upside down and ordered itself next to a set of utensils just in time before a jar of milk poured the drink into it.

More than the grand breakfast, the host was edible from head to toe. He’d dressed himself up smartly with a white shirt worn underneath a light gray double-breasted vest, combined with a pair of black pants, a black silk tie, and a silver pocket clock chain. The fabric hugged him tightly, boasting about the asset underneath. His thin lips teased the edge of the cup to test the coffee’s temperature before taking a sip. For a few minutes, I stood in the hallway and stared, enchanted by Mr. Graves in all his glory.

“Good morning.” Mr. Graves finally noticed me and probably noticed my hanging mouth. “And Happy New Year.”

I hoped that I didn’t drool. “G… Good morning, Mr. Graves.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair next to him.

I sat down.

Our chairs might be too close. I took notice that Mr. Graves smelled like soap and my body immediately became stiff. My memory winded back to the dawn, to the messy bed, to the hard body against my back and the roughness of his hand that had driven me to the most heavenly bliss I’d ever felt.

I shouldn’t be thinking about Mr. Graves in those inappropriate manners, like when he was sucking on my skin or humping my behind, his lips puffed and red, his breath hot and heavy, his hair messed up by my hands.

My hands.

Suddenly, my neck became hot, my lips became dry, and my fingers felt very very lonely.

I needed a distraction.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Mr. Graves waved his hand. The coffee pot hurriedly flew over with a cup. I had never drunk coffee before. I wanted to try some.

“Do you have a butler, sir?” Looking at the flying objects, I asked curiously. “Perhaps, an invisible one?”

Mr. Graves grabbed the pot and poured me a cup of coffee. “I don’t own any servants. I do my own chores.”

“So, it was you in the shower too?”

The corner of his mouth curved up. “Sometimes, I cast spells on objects. How did you like it?”

“It was awesome,” I blurted out. My voice started out excited but it turned bitter quickly. I hoped Mr. Graves didn’t catch the resentment in my voice. Envy stang my chest and dyed the heart poisonous black.

Mr. Graves’ magic was amazing. Why was mine so different?

“Why the long face, kid?” Mr. Graves observed me carefully. “Are you worried about your guardian? I informed him that you are with me.”

“I just...” I had to change the topic. “I wish Modesty were here with me. We were poor, Mr. Graves. My little sister has never tried an apple pie. We had only fish watery soup and fish watery soup every day. On our luckier days, we were fed tasteless cornbread and butter.”

Mr. Graves looked thoughtful. “We are searching for your sister.”

“Mom broke her wand, you know? But she can use magic even without a wand. I saw she did that once.”

“She must be a very talented witch.”

_Talented._

My chest ached again.

“Grindelwald wanted her,” I told him. Mr. Graves raised his brow at me. “He said he had a vision of a little kid with immense power who was so close to my mother. The kid was dying so he asked for my help to find the kid. I suspected Modesty so I sneaked into her bedroom and found the wand under her bed.”

Mr. Graves put the newspaper aside. He drew his fingers together. “According to the case file, Grindelwald wanted you, Credence.”

“No, he didn’t. Whom he was searching for was a kid not older than ten years old.”

I wasn’t a little kid and I was too big to be that stupid. But I was. Unfortunately, I _was_. The same sad feeling as before built up inside me. My voice started to tremble.

“H… He cast me away when he found out about Modesty. He said that I was a s… s...”

“A squib?”

“Yes, that’s the word he used. And that I was useless.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you snapped?”

I clenched my jaw and nodded.

“Why did you help him, Credence? Surely it wasn’t because he came to you with an honest plea to help a dying girl, was it?”

“I didn’t help him, sir. I helped _you_.”

My answer seemed to catch him off guard. Mr. Graves looked at me and then turned away, grimacing. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry.” I bowed my head. “I didn’t mean to blame you but it’s the truth. I did what he asked me to because I thought he was you.”

Mr. Graves regarded me. I was so ashamed of myself so I dared not return the gaze. I clenched my fists on my thighs, staring at the cold tomato soup.

Mr. Graves finally tore his eyes away. He picked up the coffee cup and brought it to his lips. “I saw you. With your family in front of the headquarters.”

“I saw you too,” I said. “Many more times.”

“Are you trying to compete with me, boy?”

I eyed him sideways. “If I were, I’d win.”

Mr. Graves arched an eyebrow at me. Since he didn’t seem angry but rather amused, I carried on. “I always knew you were a wizard. Every step you took, it was pure magic. The first time I saw you, I was spellbound. I was captivated by you, fascinated by you. You were like God. You were... everything I dreamed to be. So, when _you_ approached me one day and asked for my help, sir, surely I was beyond ready to do everything for you.”

Mr. Graves frowned. I didn’t know what he meant by that. But he didn’t interrupt my ranting. “I want to be a wizard too. See? With your magic, you can do many great things. Fighting, protecting, summoning, repairing or just, like you do, doing chores. Magic is supposed to be amazing. But mine is not. The power inside me is a dark soul, monstrous and useless. Mom taught us kids to despise magic. I can’t bring myself to hate your kind of magic but I always hate mine. I want to love myself but it’s too hard for me. Whenever Mom execrated witches and wizards, I was reminded to resent myself. Grindelwald is a mad man. But he’s smart. Not only he used you to capture my interest, he also promised me what I most wanted.”

“Which is?”

I hesitated. It would sound ridiculous.

“Which is what, Credence?” Mr. Graves asked again.

“Grindelwald promised me my lifelong wish. He promised to make me a wizard.” I swallowed hard. “And, with him, I could leave the church behind.”

I had no more confession to make. Mr. Graves stayed silent as if he was digesting my words.

He took a deep breath and pulled his wand out of the holster. “Try this.”

I shook my head but he put the wand in my hand anyway. “Hold it and say ‘Lumos.’”

“L… Lumos?” Nothing happened. “Lumos.” Again, nothing happened. Red-faced and disappointed, I gave the wand back to its owner. “I can’t.”

I didn’t know what kind of spell Mr. Graves was teaching me but, the only sort of magic I was capable of was for murder. Mr. Scamander had promised he’d cure me but he hadn’t mentioned anything about me being able to use magic like normal wizards.

It might be impossible after all.

Before I could lean back into my chair, Mr. Graves snatched my hand and squeezed it. “You will get better in less than no time.”

I nodded. I wanted to believe him more than anything. But deep inside my heart, I knew it was just a lie. If I blindly let myself believe the lie and had my hope up again, I would get another blow and I would break. I would die.

Why did Mr. Graves’ hand have to be so warm and assuring?

I wanted to believe him.

Mr. Graves waved his wand to heat up the food and then put the wand down. He patted the back of my hand.

“Eat up. After breakfast, I will walk you back home.”

 

 


	11. Hmm, Smells Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Two chapters at once. Because I forgot to post last week................
> 
> There is a bit of Jacob x Queenie in this chapter because, you know, they are my favorite!

 

 

11.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 

 **P** eople always crammed into the Orchard street like worker ants hurried into and out of their colony to forage for food.

Usually, there were men and women holding bags and baskets stuffed with meat, loaves of bread, and cheese that smelled like feet. Noisy kids of every size squeaked across the street or shoved the other kids into running carriages when they were too bored to wait decently while their mothers were buying the cheapest corn flakes for the cheapest taste. The street, blanketed with scraps of paper and every kind of litter, was jammed by fruit and vegetable carts lining up in front of commercial buildings. Buyers crowded around them to dig up the best-looking radish or bell pepper they could buy for dinner. The smell of fish, meat, spice, and vegetable were trapped together in the city blocks with trash, strong human odor, and waste matter of animals scattered all over the ground.

On New Year, only a few pedestrians were seen but they often slipped away quickly to stay clear from the cold wind. Most of the time, Orchard street was motionless like a snapshot. Some stores were still open for business but the market was incredibly inactive. The passage was clean of carts and horse shit. The whisper of heartless winter froze down the street and blew away the unpleasant smell. Or it was just my nose, too frozen to sense anything.

Credence and I, we escaped the cold into a warm bakery. The storefront sign read ‘Kowalski Quality Baked Goods’. The bakery had the spirit of freshly baked bread and fine butter, shiny and cozy. The owner, Jacob Kowalski, a big guy with Chevron mustache, took the position behind the counter. The baker was probably not expecting many customers on the holiday so he packed his shelves with only a few trays of pastries. I raised my brow at the products clearly made into the shapes of magical beasts. Which were cute. Sadly, Jacob Kowalski didn’t think the same about _me_.

The shock rushed to his face at the moment he remembered who I was. His mouth parted like an idiot I knew he wasn’t. The case file mentioned an unnamed male No-Maj who’d helped Newt Scamander and Tina collect Mr. Scamander’s beasts including a dangerous few like the Erumpent and the Occamy. Looking at Mr. Kowalski’s well-made pastries, I reckoned this was the man.

The only thing that concerned the Director-of-Magical-Security part of me was that his memory of the encounter with the beasts should have been _obliviated_. But here it was. ‘No, no, no, no, don’t wipe my memory’ kind of begging was plastered all over his face as plain as day.

“It’s OK, Jacob. He doesn’t come here to wipe your memory.” I heard the honeyed voice of Queenie Goldstein, Tina’s little sister who worked in the Wand Permit Office, before she appeared from the door behind the counter in her elegant charm and red slip-over dress.

Queenie was very famous with her beauty and enviable curly blonde hair. I didn’t see her often. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked to her, probably asking about her sister. But I did hear about the younger Goldstein from time to time. For men, Queenie was obviously a doll, she was _it_ whom they wanted to date and take to bed. For women, she was a dumb Dora who couldn’t even hold a tea tray and walk straight. She was an untalented witch, completely good for nothing except painting her lips red. I could tell that the female clerks gossiped and complained about Queenie out of envy. But because of the lack of supporters and comrades, Queenie had never been assigned to any challenging tasks and had zero chance to get promoted.

“Good morning, Mr. Graves. And you too, Credence.” Queenie sweetly greeted us. “May I introduce you to a friend of mine?”

“A No-Maj friend of yours, Miss Goldstein?”

“Please call me Queenie.” She batted her eyes at me and then at Credence. “If you can dress up an Obscurial, surely I am allowed to talk to some friendly No-Majs, ain’t I?”

We all turned to Credence in time to see him turn red.

I straightened my chest and took the blame.

Proudly.

After breakfast, I’d been determined to wrap Credence up. He couldn’t fight the cold with only those old suit and shirt, could he? The boy had protested, saying that he was familiar with the Manhattan’s winter and it wasn’t at all brutal. But I’d wrapped him up anyway. I’d convinced him with a few kisses and a promise that I would only lend him an old overcoat of mine, nothing more, although I’d known from the deepest of my heart that I wouldn’t stop at lending. I didn’t intend to be his Daddy or make him feel like a charity case. I just wanted to wrap the boy up with colors like a present.

I’d fussed over Credence until he’d been warm in a navy blue thick woolen overcoat, a dark moss green scarf, and a herringbone tweed newsboy cap. Credence had been nervous and embarrassed. He’d refused to meet my eyes.

When Credence felt uneasy, I also felt uneasy.

When he was uneasy, he would become so different from the boy I had known in my bed who was bold, demanding, and sexy.

I’d wanted to take his clothes off right then despite the long hour of forcing him to wear them if I could strip his anxiety off. I’d have laid him down on the floor where we stood and taken him in my mouth. I’d have done every filthy thing I could think of to him until he felt no need to be reserved around me. You couldn’t be shy with someone who had already sucked your dick, right? I’d have made him scream whatever had been being caged in his mind. I’d have made him beg to be released. I’d have let him take control and ordered me around and had him pound into me so deep.

But I had behaved.

“I only borrowed them from Mr. Graves.” Credence said softly to Queenie. “Mr. Graves said it would be cold outside.”

Queenie blushed and smiled at me. Although nervously, like Tina, she seemed sincere when she smiled. “I didn’t know you own any green scarves. You only wear blue-gray.”

Credence looked at me and knotted his brows. I cleared my throat. “That’s the only green one I have.”

“What is in that basket?”

Credence was holding a basket containing a salted caramel apple pie I’d made. The boy treated the basket with care the same way he carried his clothes. On the way to the bakery, Credence had avoided stepping under dripping water and stepping on rubbish or puddles.

I should have made the scarf red and tied it over his head to create a Red Riding Hood. The image of him in the red hood was too adorable. God helped me. It was too adorable. I was fighting the urge to bury my face on his shoulder and smile like crazy.

“Mr. Graves made an apple pie.” Credence told Queenie.

Queenie sniffed. “Hmm, smells good.”

Mr. Kowalski also marveled at the pie. “Your apple pie puts mine to shame.”

Praise from the baker! I had to be so proud of myself. “I hope it’d suit your taste.” With that, we kind of became friends. “I’m Percival Graves.”

“Jacob Kowalski.” The No-Maj swept his palm over his apron and offered it to me.

Most witches and wizards didn’t mingle with No-Majs and, because the rubbish they were taught by their parents and teachers about how cruel No-Majs were, they might get spooky in a situation like this. Not for me though. I took the given hand and shook it. Queenie widened her eyes and blushed. She seemed to be taken aback but also very pleased with my manner. If she’d only known of what reason I was fine with associating with No-Majs, the sweet lady would have fainted.

Mr. Kowalski wasn’t the first No-Maj I’d shaken hand with. He wasn’t the first No-Maj I’d shaken _anything_ with.

Mr. Kowalski drew in a lungful of relief into his nostrils and blew it out through his mouth. He let go of my hand. “Mr. Graves, I’m sorry that I wrecked your office’s door. But it wasn’t yours back then, right?”

I looked at him with a blank expression.

“You don’t remember? Very well… forget it.” Mr. Kowalski smiled sheepishly. “I also like your apple pie so… so… Please tell me you aren’t going to wipe my memory.”

The corners of my mouth curved downward. “I think Miss Goldstein is blackmailing me not to.”

Queenie laughed. Her voice rang like a silver bell.

“Where are Mr. Scamander and your sister?”

“They went out this morning. But the four of us can have lunch together without them.” Queenie told me cheerfully. “Come on! Let’s go eat. Lunch is ready.”

Mr. Kowalski closed the bakery and joined us at the small dining table overstuffed with food and drink. The meal consisted of cream cheese blintzes with baked ham and poached egg, sweet and sour meatballs, grilled chicken and berry salad, and a lot more green in a plateful of asparagus with hollandaise sauce. We drank non-alcoholic fruit punch. Mr. Kowalski also gave Credence and me the Erumpent bread.

Queenie and Mr. Kowalski were lovebirds. They smiled and giggled. They picked food for each other, passing back and forth the bowl of meatballs and berry salad. I noticed that Queenie always promptly passed the salt to Mr. Kowalski at the right time even though he didn’t ask her to or sometimes with only ‘Queenie, could you please’. It was strange but I reckoned that all lovers acted like this.

The food was delicious. However, Credence wasn’t eating much. I voiced my concern as I’d done at the Chinese restaurant. He hadn’t eaten much in my hotel room either.

“I don’t know how he has grown so tall because he eats so little.” Queenie teamed up with me.

Mr. Kowalski agreed with his beloved. “You should eat more, Credence. You are still growing!”

Credence nodded uneasily and picked at the berries on his plate. Mr. Kowalski shook his head and handed the boy the bowl of meatballs. “Eat meat! You must get bigger and stronger. You are too pale, boy.”

I liked this guy. I liked that he told the Obscurial who’d destroyed half of his city to get bigger and stronger. However, what Mr. Kowalski said was right. Even though Credence was as tall as a grown man, he was rather thin and pale. Not only his physical condition that concerned me, I was being worried about his mental condition too. Credence rarely smiled. I wondered if the reason he didn’t eat plenty or take pleasure in the new life free from his evil adoptive mother was because he didn’t want to betray his little sister who was still lost. I needed to find Modesty fast. For both of them.

After the meal, Queenie waved her wand to clear the table and replaced the empty plates with vanilla ice cream and my apple pie.

“Oh, is it that tasty?” Queenie clapped her hands together while talking to Credence. “The girls in my department would cry in envy if they heard that I had a chance to eat Mr. Graves’ homemade pie.”

And they would talk behind her back and call her slut more and more.

Color and joy disappeared from Queenie’s face.

“Please don’t read my mind.” Credence said quietly.

I looked at the boy, and then Queenie, and later at Mr. Kowalski who seemed indifferent to the fact that his girlfriend might be reading people’s mind but grew worried as he saw her wet eyes.

“You are a Legilimens?” I asked, astounded.

Queenie dipped her head.

“Oh.” My mouth hung open. “Did… Did you read my mind?”

She nodded again. She watched me with her round eyes. Her face color was coming back to her cheeks while mine faded.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I know you are worried about me, Mr. Graves. Thank you.” Queenie said.

“Have you read only that part?”

Queenie shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand.

I could see that she was smiling.

_Fuck._

Credence realized what I meant. He became red like a tomato. The Obscurial told the witch. “Please don’t read his mind too. It’s… It’s private.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anyone.” She threw a wicked grin to her confused baker. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you, Jacob. Let’s eat Mr. Graves’ apple pie!”

I ate apple pie very very quietly. I only nodded at Mr. Kowalski when he commented positively on my apple pie. I tried to control my thoughts and pulled them away from the moments I’d shared with Credence. But reminding myself not to think about them brought them straight back to mind. I remembered everything from his aphrodisiac smell to the dampness he’d released in my hand. How excited I had been.

_Stop it._

“I’m not reading your mind, Mr. Graves. I’m so sorry I did it without your permission.” Queenie bowed her head.

“You can do it even without a wand?”

“I was born with this skill, Mr. Graves.” She told me and Credence. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

“You don’t have to swear. Just don’t tell anyone.” I sighed. Whatever. I’d better steer the conversation to legilimency. “I’ve never met any witches or wizards that were born a natural Legilimens before. Your power is remarkable. Don’t you think you should put it to good use?” Some good use that wasn’t navigating through my naughty mind.

She nodded.

“Do you think you can read Gellert Grindelwald’s?”

Queenie widened her eyes. “Do you want me to...”

“If you volunteer, of course. I am going to interrogate him but I doubt he would tell me anything useful. I want to know why Grindelwald kidnapped me. He used Credence disguise to kidnap me and torture me.”

“What?” Credence raised his head. “I didn’t...”

“Calm down. I know it wasn’t you, son.”

We fell into silence. I waited for Queenie’s answer. Finally, she said yes.

“Thank you.”

“I, instead, have to thank you, Mr. Graves.” The beautiful witch smiled brightly. “No one at the office has ever asked me to do anything except serving tea. No one has ever said that my power is remarkable. It freaks them out as much as their thoughts creep me out. I am very honored to help you.”

“I want to go with you.” Credence said.

“We can borrow Newt’s bag to smuggle him in.” Queenie eagerly suggested. “But you might have to hurry up, Mr. Graves, because Newt is planning to go back to England in two days.”

“Two days?”

“Yes! He bought the ticket.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

12.

_Credence_

 

 

 

 **B** ecause of the unexpected rainstorm that had attacked New York City last week, snow had melted away but Central Park’s landscape was still in the frozen state. The rain left the broad sidewalk and the benches icy and slippery, the sky white and blurry. The leafless trees lined up along the path, their roots buried in the dampish ground and muddy snowbanks, their branches wearing translucent icicles. Since the rain departed, not a flurry of snow had turned up, therefore the charm of white wintertime had yet to pile up.

Every year, while the kids at the church including Modesty had been blabbering about how much they liked snow and how awesome winter was, I’d secretly prayed for spring to come faster than a galloping horse.

What was so good about winter? The ice-cold wind would run into my cheeks, sending shivers down to shake every hair and limbs of my body. Snow looked elegant and enjoyable but it was cruel and cold. It would make the roof dirty, the road slushy and Mom moody.

Beginning in late January, snow would block the roads. Mom couldn’t go out to prophesy. Instead, she’d preached to us children who all had been confined in the church day-and-night. Her eyes had been on us. She’d demanded full attention and concentration. We’d had to listen to her carefully and repeat after her the condemnation of witchcraft, calling it a great transgression that deserved punishment and a blasphemy that should be erased from the earth. At breakfast, lunch, and dinner and every time I moved, she’d made us swear that we would follow her guidance and be free from witchery. Her strong disgust and hateful belief had haunted the church. I’d seen them at every corner, dark or bright. I’d felt them crawling in my skin. I’d heard them in my voice and I’d slit my throat in my dreams. Sometimes, even Modesty singing anti-witchcraft rhymes had gotten on my nerves and I’d itched to throw things.

I blew out a breath of white air as Mr. Graves led me on a tour he’d promised. He told me the history of the park and the animals as we walked.

The park’s grand landscape had been designed by two architects, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux. Olmsted was an American landscape architect whose brilliant works included the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893. Calvert Vaux, a handsome British architect and landscape designer who at that time had been young and rising, was his senior partner. In 1857, Vaux had suggested they enter the competition for the design of Central Park and they’d won with the design called Greensward. Although less experience than Vaux, Olmsted had given the people of New York the best scenic view they had ever seen. The man had become infamous in the later years. Vaux was notable for bridges and structures. The Bow Bridge and Bethesda Terrace were ones of his best designs.

The Central Park design had excluded the zoo but when it’d been opened, it became the hottest spot for the park visitors. The animals, which were exhibited here, were mostly donated. The idea of the zoo had started with seventy-two white swans and a bear cub raised by a park messenger boy, Philip Holmes. The number of the animals had been added up by massive animal donations in 1860. People had started giving their unwanted pets such as parrots and rabbits to the city while the rich had donated more extraordinary wildlife. The animals and the donors were listed in the park’s annual reports. That list included red foxes, eagles, peacocks and many more.

 

The day was pleasingly calm and quiet because no other visitors came to the park due to the disagreeably cold weather and the wet walks. The animal cages and fenced areas were established on a square ground surrounding a pool of sea lions at the center. The animals weren’t all exhibited because of the small space and the season. But there were still plenty to watch. Mr. Graves showed me an elephant, a bull bison, and hawks. Some of them looked as incredible as Mr. Scamander’s fantastic beasts.

The ground was half-frozen. So was the water in the pool. Only the sea lions seemed to be enjoying themselves. The other animals tucked their tail and curled in the corner of their limited living space.

A little monkey took an interest in me and Mr. Graves, probably out of curiosity or hunger. It tilted the small head at me and wrapped its fingers around the bar of the cage. I wondered who’d donated this monkey. It might be someone’s pet once and be abandoned. As the thought consumed me, I looked around the menagerie again. The collection became less marvelous and increasingly made me sick. The feeling might show on my face because Mr. Graves gently touched my back and asked. “What’s wrong? Are you tired?”

I shook my head. “I just think that... maybe... these animals don’t want to be here.”

Mr. Graves glanced around as I’d done earlier. He rubbed his chin and knotted his brows together. “Do you want me to release them all?”

“No!” I almost yelled. “We can’t do that, right?”

Mr. Graves thought for a minute. His handsome face was serious and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He then grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the zoo.

We took a slow walk, savoring the amazing landscape, to the ice pond in the Southeast corner of the park where an arch bridge, called Gapstow Bridge, stood strong. Lines of tall trees occupied the slopes of the banks, leaning over the pond, spreading their messy limbs. The pond and the sky both looked serene in white, almost dreamlike, while the stone bridge and the dark brown branches contrasted to the background elegantly. It was calm and peaceful but overwhelming. The scenery was wondrous and it took my breath away.

Ducks were quacking and walking over the solid surface of the ice pond. Mr. Graves headed to the bridge. I didn’t. I stayed at the bank and convinced myself that this was real. I was afraid that I might be dreaming even though for other people, this special moment might be just an ordinary park and an ordinary day.

Where had this place been all my life?

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Graves walked back to join me.

“To call it beautiful is an understatement.” I almost whispered.

“Here.” Mr. Graves handed a paper bag to me. I peered inside. There were grapes cut in half. “Duck treats.”

“How did you get this?”

The handsome wizard met my eyes without saying a word. Oh, I shouldn’t have asked. Of course. Of course. His magic. He’d used it to get some duck treats.

Mr. Graves picked up a piece of grape and put it in his mouth.

“You said they are duck treats!”

He chewed, watching the pond and lopsidedly grinned.

I was going to melt and the heat in my entire body would be hot enough to make this pond melt with me. I started to imagine what I could do with those teasing lips. What I’d already done. Where exactly on my body they’d teased and nipped. How they’d kissed and how much they’d electrified me. My whole body heated up by just thinking about Mr. Graves’ strong chest pressing behind me. His unchaste hands and his warmth had caressed every part of me branding the eternal flame of desire into my soul. I wanted to do it again with him. I wanted to take care of him too.

If he allowed a freak like me to.

I hid my red face from Mr. Graves and started feeding grapes to the ducks. As soon as the first piece fell on the icy bank, every single duck in the flock raced to me.

“These ducks, they once lived on the rooftop of the Ansonia.”

“On the rooftop of your hotel?”

“Yes. The Ansonia had a rooftop farm. It housed livestock like chickens, ducks, goats, cows, not so long before the city began to complain and shut the farm down. The animals were moved here.”

I fed the grapes to the ducks piece by piece. The animals began to fight for the grapes so, I threw the rest of the treats in the paper bag on the ground, intending to stop the fight but instead creating a bigger chaos.

Mr. Graves pulled the empty bag off my hand. When our fingers touched, he briefly locked his to mine. “Credence, your hands are freezing.”

“I’m fine,” was my prompt response.

Mr. Graves seemed concerned. He didn’t say anything or lecture me about keeping warm in winter, just rubbed his fingers with mine a few times before he let go. I thought my hands would feel cold. I thought my hands would feel lonely. But they didn’t. When I looked at them again, I found myself wearing a pair of gray woolen gloves.

Although I was happy and warm, I couldn’t let this kind of thing happen again and again.

“You can’t keep giving me things, Mr. Graves.”

“Why?” Mr. Graves tilted his head. “What if I said that giving you things made me happy?”

“I don’t want to bother you. I don’t want anything from you. I just want to—” My voice trailed off. I just… I just wanted to be with Mr. Graves. But I couldn’t say it out loud.

“You just want to what?”

I shook my head. “I am happy, very happy for all you’ve done for me. But it isn’t right, taking your stuff.” And the other things too. Things that Mom would frown upon. Things that were my dream-come-true. They weren’t right.

“You just want to do what, Credence?”

I didn’t want Mr. Graves to be mad at me, however, I bit my tongue and refused to answer. I winced at my feet instead of looking at his face because I bet he was frowning at me with annoyance.

“You are going back with Scamander, right?”

I looked at him. Oh, he really was frowning at me. I nodded. “Yes, I guess.”

“In two days, huh?” Mr. Graves scowled.

Mr. Graves put his hands in his pant pockets and kicked his right foot lazily, herding the flock back into the pond. Somehow, he seemed angry. Or annoyed. I regretted denying gifts from him right away. I might have offended him in some way and I should apologize. I didn’t want him to hate me. I didn’t...

“Tell me, boy,” Mr. Graves interrupted my thought. “Will I see you smile before you go back to England?”

We looked at each other, searching for the answer in our eyes.

_Will he see me smile? Will I smile?_

_Do I know how to smile at all?_

Mr. Graves turned away. He rubbed the skin between his nose and his mouth as if embarrassed. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried to make you happy. I’ve tried to make you smile. Apparently, I couldn’t. You didn’t like me giving you presents. You were upset when I taught you a spell. You didn’t like the zoo. I can’t tell if you are trying to control your feelings or you are bored of everything that I do. Last night, too, you came to my room because you were angry at me, right?”

“No!” I yelled. “I wasn’t angry… I just… I couldn’t control my feelings last night.” Because he’d said goodbye and I hadn’t liked it. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at me. “Before you, I never gave anybody presents, boy. I never pleased. Truthfully, I don’t know how to make people feel good. Why don’t you tell me what you want and see if I could do it for you?”

Relief flooded over me as I heard that he wasn’t angry. The feeling painted on his face and in his eyes, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even annoyance. It looked like confusion mixed with embarrassment now. This Mr. Graves was so different from Mr. Graves that I’d known. His beautiful dark brown eyes cast downward. The self-confidence and arrogant posture were replaced with weariness and uncertainty. I saw sadness between the frown and saw many more concealed feelings on the corners of his mouth. I slowly raised my hands. I didn’t know if I could ease his upset. I wasn’t even sure that I was allowed to touch him. But I hoped to see that rare playful grin again.

My hand stopped half way. I pulled it back.

Mr. Graves watched me. “You can touch me, you know? I don’t bite.”

“I know you don’t. I also want to. But we are in the park, sir.”

He quirked his eyebrow.

“I know.” I told him.

“Know what?”

“I know that we can’t…” I lowered my voice. “We can’t touch each other like we did, sir, God forbids it. Let alone doing it in public and risking being seen engaging in God forbidden act. I don’t really care about God or hell because we have already done it and I’m sure I’m heading down there anyway, but people will get angry.”

Mr. Graves snorted. “Hellfire is the least we should worry about. We will go to jail first if someone sees us.”

“All the more I should keep my hands to myself.”

Mr. Graves stared at the opposite bank and the ducks that were resting or preening their wings on the frozen rocks.

“You can touch me, boy. There’s no one here.” He jerked his chin to the flock of feathers. “Only animals. It’s safe.”

I didn’t move.

So he moved.

Closer.

“You just told me what you wanted to do. That you wanted to touch me.”

Mr. Graves was within touching distance.

Within kissing distance.

His breath was blowing on my face. His husky voice was casting a spell on me. “Touch me.”

“Here?”

“Now.”

 

“Good boy.” I heard Mr. Graves murmur as I slipped into his embrace and pressed my mouth to his. We didn’t move an inch, just holding still, enjoying the softness of the touch. For a brief moment, time stopped, before a good loud quack made me jump. I was stepping back but Mr. Graves abruptly snatched the back of my neck and pulled me forward, putting our foreheads together. He looked into my eyes and sucked in a long restrained breath.

“It’s just a duck, Credence.”

I averted my eyes to see if anybody had come but Mr. Graves held me still. The tips of our noses brushed. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Mr. Graves felt so good, good enough to eat. He smelled like the grape he’d just eaten. I wondered if he tasted like grapes too.

None of us leaned away so the light touch turned to tickling. I felt his hands on my hip and the nape of my neck so I fastened my arms around his shoulders too, drawing him closer. I nuzzled him, pushed his face up, and kissed him. I opened my mouth and licked his rough skin. Mr. Graves moaned softly. The sound thrilled my very core.

He let go of my neck to cup my face. His lustful lips sucked on mine and in return, I devoured him as passionately. His tongue, happy and ready, teased my lower lip then slipped into my mouth. I sucked on it like a baby. Mr. Graves did taste like grapes. Sour and sweet. His member was hardening against mine. I briefly ran my hip against his. As if he could read my mind, Mr. Graves grabbed my waist and pressed our groins together. I thrust my hip. Mr. Graves groaned deep in his throat and pressed into me. My body reacted to the friction in many inappropriate ways possible. My impatient moan echoed in his mouth while our tongues entwined. I didn’t care that we had to breathe. Even breathing could wait.

Mr. Graves gave me one last smooch before he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me, another seized my elbow, but he was still locked in my embrace. Our chests heaved, pumping against each other.

I looked at his face. This man was so beautiful. His eyes were round and shining. Would Mr. Graves be angry at me if I told him that they reminded me of the eyes of a deer?

And the way he looked at me.

Was that curiosity?

Was that alarm?

Was I too overzealous so he felt uncomfortable?

Mr. Graves gulped and blinked a few times. His tongue flicked across his front teeth and disappeared into the darkness.

The darkness I’d love to explore.

I grabbed his hair on the back of his head and pulled. Just beyond tenderly.

Mr. Graves let out an angry grunt.

In a blink of an eye, I was thrown into the bed in Mr. Graves’ dim bedroom with the room owner underneath me.

“Oh, God! I’m sorry, Mr. Graves!” I fumbled to get off him. But Mr. Graves clutched the green scarf around my neck and yanked me down on his sprawling body. He lifted his head enough to close our lips together. He seized my lower lip between his teeth, pulled lightly and lowered his head down on the soft pillow. I followed obediently like a loyal dog on its owner’s heel. My treats were gentle bites starting on my nose all the way down to my clean shaven chin. I laid on top of him using my elbows to support my weight and kissed him back eagerly.

Mr. Graves took the scarf off me. He touched my left cheek, tilted it to the side and kissed my neck. Licked it. Smelled it. He then tortured my earlobe with the tip of his tongue and a low-pitched chuckle.

I was going to explode. “Mr. Graves...”

Mr. Graves pushed me to the sitting position and followed.

“Strip. Get naked.” He grunted an order. His eyes, darkening with lewd thoughts, trailed down to my lower half while his hands hurriedly shed his own overcoat.

I gave him room to undress. I sat at the edge of the bed, clumsily slipping off my vest and my shirt. I stole a glance at Mr. Graves. He was naked down to the waist. There were a hint of hair on the arms and some on his broad chest that formed into a thicker trail running downward to the waistband. My mouth watered at the sight of the fair skin covering that strong sculptured body. Every inch and every line were too ravishing to be human.

Mr. Graves met my eyes and unbuttoned his pants.

I kicked off my shoes hastily and climbed back into the bed. I undid his boots for him. He watched me closely, caressing my cheek.

God, I would do anything for him.

When I finally got rid of his boots, Mr. Graves lifted his hip for me to take his pants off.

“Credence.” He drew my face to his. “Do you want me to take your pants off for you?.”

No way. If he touched me now, I was going to die. Blood rushed to my face too fast I felt like I was going to faint. I shook my head and fumbled at my belt while Mr. Graves was still patting my cheek. As soon as I put the belt away, his eyes shone wickedly. Mr. Graves grabbed my crotch and squeezed me through the fabric. I gasped and snapped my eyes shut. He caressed me a few more times before he undid my pants and pulled everything down to my knees.

Embarrassment burned my face as he stared. My cock was so hard it hurt. The deep sound that Mr. Graves made didn’t ease the longing. Neither his warm hands thick with lust that started to tickle my torso. My heart beat so fast like it was going to jump out of my chest.

Mr. Graves set me on the mattress gently and tugged my pants down. He squeezed my thighs and spread them.

“No.” I closed my legs. “I will… I will...”

“You want to lead?”

I didn’t understand what he was saying but, yes, I wanted a chance to do something to him first. I nodded. He smiled at me and rolled onto his back willingly.

His member was as hard as mine and hot to the touch. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and stroked him slowly. I was sure that I was clumsy. It was my first time touching someone else’s dick, let alone giving a service. But Mr. Graves closed his eyes and threw his head back like he was having a good time so, I closed my hand more tightly around his cock and jerked him faster. He bucked his hip and rewarded me with a shuddering groan.

I leaned over to peck him on the chest.

Mr. Graves opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized. “I want to kiss you.”

With that, he dragged me up to him and kissed me. Our wet tongues entangled when we took turns tasting each other. His right hand wandered down to play with the hair on my chest and then pinched my nipple. I blew a labored breath into his mouth. He swallowed it and moaned in return, not letting go of my lips.

My hard-working hand was moving up and down his length which was so slicked with semen. His hip moved faster. Suddenly, he snatched my neck and forcefully yanked me down into a tight embrace. He clenched his ass and thrust his hip into my fist several times. After that, the thrust slowed down. He ejaculated in my hand and his energy began to fade. My chest puffed proudly as I saw the white thick fluid nesting between my fingers.

“Boy.” Mr. Graves called me. He was still trying to catch his breath. He shifted so his head and upper back rested against the headboard. “Straddle my chest.”

I glanced at his muscular chest. “What?”

Mr. Graves patted his chest nonchalantly. “Come on.”

My entire body heated up like I was on fire. My first instinct was to run, but obediently, I lifted myself and threw one of my legs over his body. My hip felt hot against his caressing hands that drew me closer and closer to his face. He fondled my butt and buried his nails into it. “Grab the headboard.” The order rang in his throat.

I leaned over and grabbed the headboard as told. I licked my lips, waited and shuddered. Mr. Graves breathed on my erection. He hummed approvingly before he parted his lips and took me. My eyes rolled back in my head as the extreme delight swelled in my groin. He sucked in my whole length and bobbed his head until my cock was wet and hard as a rock. And then he let go of the head with a pop. He ducked to lick the skin behind my balls.

“Mr. Graves, sir” I panted a begging whisper.

“You can move.” He murmured to my skin and got back to torturing me with his skillful mouth. He kissed me there from the head to the base and lazily dragged his tongue up to play with the tip, kissing, nipping, and circling it. Before he could take me into his mouth again, I cried out his name and shot my load on his face, right there where the mole was. I couldn’t tell exactly what happened except that I clenched the headboard so hard my knuckles turned white and the rest of my release fell on his neck and his chest.

As soon as I came back down to earth and saw the mess I’d made to Mr. Graves, I wanted to smack my head into the wall.

“Mr. Graves! I’m so sorry!” I used my hand to clean him. But it didn’t help one bit. The mess got messier like I was spreading my semen on his chest. “I’m sorry!”

Mr. Graves watched me quietly.

And then he laughed.

Not a chuckle. Not a grin. Mr. Graves actually laughed.

The sound of his carefree laughter drummed alongside my heart. I was stunned.

Mr. Graves grabbed his white shirt. He cleaned himself with it and threw the shirt on the floor carelessly. “Credence. Come here.”

I climbed down from his chest and nestled into his shoulder.

Mr. Graves kissed my forehead. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

It did.

I had to tell him that it did.

“Very much so.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

13.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 

 **I** climbed down the stone staircase to the entrance of the underground jailhouse. I was greeted by two guards that were standing in front of a black metal door in Gothic style buried shallowly in a thick stone wall. The guards threw a brief glance at the leather suitcase in my hand but none took any special interest in it. In one more minute, after they’d had me sign my name, they let me in and slammed the door behind me.

The underground jailhouse wasn’t big nor intimidating but it was indeed a maximum security facility. It had only five small holding cells and for decades had housed mostly high-profile or dangerous inmates awaiting their trial, which was very rare since MACUSA preferred no trial. Usually, suspects would be interrogated, usually most of them would confess, and be shipped to other bigger prisons as fast as a fart. At this time, only Grindelwald was being held here. The Congress hadn’t yet decided where to send him to stand trial or where to dump his parts if they agreed to just chop him to pieces.

The jailhouse was lit brightly to give the guards the clear view of everything going on behind the metal grid doors. The cells were appreciably clean with a bit of dank smell. Each was furnished with a single metal bed, a thin mattress, a toilet, a sink, a small table, and a stool. I didn’t have to guess in which cell Grindelwald was being held since the door of the cell was noticeably shining white. The cell was being guarded by a shield charm that prevented the prisoner from casting any spells and protecting him from being harmed from the outside. I hoped legilimency was still working through that shiny layer.

Grindelwald had been stripped of his clothes, given a gray shirt and an old pair of gray pants. The gray shirt had been tucked underneath the waistband as neatly as his pale blonde hair had been combed. Despite the metal door banging loud enough to wake the dead, the prisoner didn’t turn around. He was having lunch, seating himself on the stool, nervelessly sipping corn soup from a wooden spoon as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

I cleared my throat.

He sensed my presence. Grindelwald dropped the spoon and turned his face to leer at me.

“Finally,” Grindelwald exclaimed softly with a mocking whistle. Perverse pleasure flickered in his eyes. His white mustache curved up as his wicked smile crept to his ears. The dark wizard’s complexion was strikingly strange. He looked ten years older than his age. He was bleached save his right eye which was dark colored. The left eye was gray and looked fake like a glass eyeball.

“Do you bring death?” He asked me in a whispering manner. This was the first time I heard his voice—his real voice—the voice of my tormentor completely lacking remorse. He was mocking me and he was mocking death.

I clenched my jaw as his impenitence made my blood run cold. But I refused to be intimidated or show him that I was intimidated. I’d survived the torture, I told myself, and I’d _survive_ the fiend. “No. That would be too easy. You have to pay for what you’ve done.”

Grindelwald smiled widely, flashing his white teeth. His glassy eyes and the evil grin hung in the air, displaying that mad happiness of a Cheshire cat. “Then, what do you want from me, Auror?”

“I think you know.” I placed the bag on the ground. Queenie and Credence were in the bag with the creatures while Mr. Scamander and Tina were waiting in my office. I unlocked the bag so Queenie could listen to my exchange with the criminal while Credence was keeping the beasts in line.

“Yes. I can read your mind because we are intimate. _Intensely_.”

Those intimate moments filled up my empty chest as I listened to his nasty laughter. The memory of being whipped, tortured, and _broken_ plunked the heavy agony on my heart.

I remembered that, one by one the bullwhip had struck down hard with a wave of hatred and anger that made me wonder what I’d done to deserve the hurting and the pain. Every time the braided leather gnawed on my skin, it’d shredded my dignity and my humanity. I’d felt as if I were a stupid donkey who had been born to be beaten. I remembered grinding my teeth so hard to suppress the scream even when the throes of dying had been shrieking in my ears. I’d closed my eyes, choking back tears, hoping that the next blow would be the last.

It’d never been the last. And it’d never been the worst.

Even now that I was out of his deadly grip, Grindelwald was still slapping me in the face with his remorseless stance and annoying giggles.

“I do want to hear about the future you have so long dreamed about. But I don’t think it matters now.”

“Why?” He placed his elbow on the table and propped his chin in his palm.

“Admit it. Your glorious plan is crumbling around you.”

“Is it?”

I looked daggers at him. If I could lay my hands on this piece of shit I would strangle him right here right now. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“Because it was fun.”

The instant response caught me off guard. I almost lost my composure.

Just fun?

On those days and nights I’d suffered, I’d prayed to God that I would live. I would get away and I would get my answer. Why? Why had that person—this monster—done such thing to me?

Grindelwald had been using Credence disguise but it didn’t matter because, through my blood soaked eyelids, I’d hardly seen his face. I’d only felt, in his hard blows and growling, an unstoppable rage and disgust, like he had been punishing me.

I should have either been linked to one of his schemes or preyed upon for some reason.

_For any reasons._

However, his answer stated loud and clear that I’d been torturing for nothing, except for his pleasure and nothing at all.

It was like being spat in the face for no reason.

Grindelwald took in the odium on my face and grinned knowingly. “What are you expecting me to say? Because you are a chosen one? Because you are important?” He shook his head. “Oh, no, Auror, you aren’t special. I chose you because you were an _easy_ one.”

The criminal got up from the stool and stalked toward me. He pressed his body to the grid door. His glowing glare pierced through the metal net as his fingers tangled in it. I didn’t step away. I wasn’t going to get scared by the tiger in the cage.

“Did you really think that your invisibility spell was effective?” An ugly sneer spread on his mouth.

“I saw you, Auror. I followed you into the dark dirty backstreet where you’d do your dirty business. You were miserable. And sinfully horny. I saw you cast that useless spell before you approached your target. I even heard your rough voice, again and again asking for a service your momma wouldn’t be proud of. I watched your eyes gleam with lust as your hands guided the young meat you’d just bought to your pecker, to have him suck you off.” He snorted. “You were so pathetic, Auror. Pathetic and unnatural.”

I looked at him with a blank expression. “If you think you are hurting me, you are wrong.”

Year after year, I’d been suffocated by self-loathing. His stinger was nothing but a piece of tasteless cake. He searched my face for something to ruin, some feelings to batter. I gave him none. He couldn’t wreck something that had already been wrecked. “Unnatural, huh? I’ve called myself _worse_.”

Grindelwald seemed a little bit lost for words but he resumed his attack soon enough. “That boy only had eyes for you, you know? When I tried to talk to him, he ran away. But he worshiped you. I noticed his yearning eyes and when I knew that you were buying hustlers to satisfy your lust for young men, I knew right then that you’d be my tool. Thanks to you, he leaned into my touch like a stray dog craving for attention. He did everything I asked him to without question.”

“Oh,” I quirked my eyebrow. “Are you telling me now that you were envious because the boy didn’t even want to talk to you?”

Grindelwald glowered at me. I lifted my chin and gave him a teasing smirk.

“I’m not your kind.” His low voice rumbled.

“You just told me that you watched me enjoy my service, probably to fulfill your voyeuristic pleasure. And you also _touched_ Credence. Too much for not being my kind.”

“To get the job done.”

I snorted, not buying his excuse. “Keep telling yourself that, will you? I bet you got a huge hard-on when you beat me up in the Bronx, you kinky bastard.”

Grindelwald froze as if he were turned to ice. His raging eyes fixed on me. If his sharp glare could cut me in half, I would have knelt in the mass of my own blood by now.

In his eyes, I saw contempt.

And.

Fear.

Suddenly, his beating and his homophobic attitude clicked into place.

But I wasn’t going to feel empathy.

Not for this man. He could rot in hell for all I cared.

Grindelwald stepped away from the door. The sneer came back to his pale face. “I like you, Auror. Why don’t you quit this boring job and come work for me.”

“Work for you doing what? You will rot in here for life.”

“Will I?”

“Surely you will, criminal.”

He grinned. “What if I say that I can get out in a few days, and when I do, you will be crushed in my hand. _Again_. Guess what kind of fun I will inflict on you this time, Auror. You are beautiful when you are humiliated and in pain.”

“Dream on. Because life imprisonment is your best bet. You will never ever get to see anybody again. You will never be touched. You will never be loved. You will be alone, despising my kind and yourself in this tiny cell, eating corn soup for the rest of your life.”

“If you think you are hurting me, you are wrong.” He threw my words back at me.

“Oh, sure I’m hurting you.” I barked back. “I’m hurting you a hell lot now that I know you are more _pathetic_ than me.”

Grindelwald’s eyes snapped shut. And then, I heard a high-pitched scream coming from the suitcase followed by a thud.

_Queenie._

I knelt down to grab the bag. I heard Grindelwald laugh.

“You bring friends.” He placed his palm on his huffing chest. “I’m hurt. I thought it was just two of us.”

“What did you do to her?” I growled.

“A Legilimens absorbs people’s feelings. You shouldn’t provoke a loony and let the sweet lady absorb his. I guess my foul soul is too much for little Miss Goldstein.” Grindelwald expressed his wickedest smile. “Bye-bye to Queenie.”

“What did you do to her?” I reached for my wand. I knew I couldn’t harm him because he was in the cage behind the white barrier but I was willing to try. For some reason, Grindelwald smiled happily. His eyes sparkled with delight as if he’d been waiting for this minute for his whole life.

Before I could advance, someone pulled my coat. I looked back and saw an arm covered by silky hair, a tiny hand grabbing my coat tightly, and a pair of round blue eyes. One of Mr. Scamander’s beasts, I guessed.

And suddenly, abruptly, the suitcase was shaken by a very angry Obscurus breaking free.

I slumped onto my ass as the Obscurus engulfed me in his impressive dark force. Credence’s rage vibrated in the air. The bloody eyes were shining. The black cloud formed a mouth and roared out a low howl of pent-up wrath. The Obscurus attacked the cage but he was pushed back by the protective charm.

“Credence, stop.” I tried to calm him down.

“I see. You’ve gotten what you want.” Grindelwald chuckled.

The Obscurus struck harder. This time, the door of the cell shook so hard even Grindelwald’s cockiness shrank to a nervous jump and a sharp intake.

“Yes. He got what he deserves.” I told Grindelwald. “Which is not an abusive mother or a lying piece of shit.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You are worse.”

I looked at Credence. Even though I enjoyed the idea of watching Grindelwald getting his ass kicked by Credence, I couldn’t let the boy break the protective charm. “Credence, stop. Get in the bag, please.”

The Obscurus hesitated but finally listened to me. He growled into Grindelwald’s face one last time and then crawled back into the bag. He changed to his human form, with the long-haired monkey-like creature clinging to his side. His face saddened with embarrassment but I managed to brighten it up with a smile. When I asked if Queenie had been harmed, he said that she was fine. It seemed like Queenie had passed out. I closed the bag and locked it.

“I did want to make life better for him, you know?” Grindelwald came to stand at the door again. “If we ruled over humans, he wouldn’t have to hide any longer. He possesses that dark soul that is eating him alive because he has been forced to hide his true power.”

“Peace shouldn’t be built on destruction.”

I heard his mocking laughter. “We can’t make peace with humans. They don’t like any higher powers. If they know about us, first they will try to bring us down. And then they will use us like they use dogs and cows. We must terrorize them. The weaklings will submit to us. Otherwise, young witches and wizards, like Credence, will have to hide in the hole forever. Do you MACUSA really think that hiding is good enough for them?”

“I agree with you that hiding isn’t enough. Hiding isn’t an answer.” I turned to face him, looking at him in the eyes. “But hiding didn’t make Credence that way. I’ve hidden my power from No-Majs for life and I’m fine with that. An Obscurus is a product of hatred and horror caused by prolonged abuse. He didn’t adopt that parasitic force because he was forced to hide but to fear and to hate his own self. The solution? I think the solution is far from conquering the world, Mr. Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald grinned. “I really really like you, Percival.”

“It’s _A_ _uror_ to you.” I gravely reminded him. “Goodbye.”

I picked up the bag and left.

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

14.

_Mr. Graves_

 

 

 **I** opened my office’s door and saw two pairs of eyes looking at me. Tina hadn’t even taken off her coat and her hat. It looked like she had been frantically walking back and forth behind my desk, when the door of the office had been unlocked and swung open, she stopped short and frowned at me. A line of anxiety was written between her dark eyebrows. Her handsome companion was sitting in a chair. Young Mr. Scamander bit his lower lip and widened his inquisitive green eyes as if he was waiting for me to yell that we’d won a quodpot match.

“Is she alright?” Tina asked.

“She fainted. But Credence said she was fine.” I placed the suitcase on the floor and hurriedly opened it. Tina got into the bag. She didn’t even wait for me to take a step back. Mr. Scamander followed his girlfriend. I chose to stay in my office and peered into the bag. The room inside looked like a wooden basement to me. I blew out a sigh of relief when I saw that Queenie, sitting helplessly in a chair, was now conscious and talking to her sister.

“Is Miss Goldstein alright?” I asked.

Hearing my voice, Queenie smiled faintly at me. “Oh, I’m fine, Mr. Graves.” And suddenly, her almost imperceptible cheerfulness faded. “But I didn’t catch anything from that man.”

“It’s fine.”

“He knew I was there from the start. He guarded his mind completely. I thought it was a smart move of yours to irritate him because he might lose it so, I waited and tried again when he was very angry.” Queenie reached out to take her sister’s hand to gather some support. “He sent some visions to me. Dreadful visions of being flogged and humiliated. He planted them in my head… It was like… It was like he did those unspeakable things directly to me.”

I rubbed my face. “I’m so sorry, Queenie. I shouldn’t have asked you to read his mind.”

The beautiful witch shook her head. The blonde curls danced behind her slender neck. “I volunteered, didn’t I? Look! I’m fine.”

Queenie looked pale and weary. I didn’t have to be a Legilimens to read her red eyes and trembling lips to perceive her panic-struck state. If I was close enough, I’d see her small hands shaking, I’d hear her heart jumping with fear. Flogged and mutilated, beaten and humiliated, the sweet young witch suffered the same things I’d experienced, the same unspeakable _crimes_ Grindelwald had committed, and I was to blame for that.

Queenie swallowed the whimper in her throat. “It was you, Mr. Graves. He was flogging you.”

All eyes turned to me.

“I know all of the visions are fake, but be careful, Mr. Graves. The man’s going to...” Queenie flinched. It took several heartbeats before she spoke again. “He’s going to cause more terror than flogging you when he escapes.”

The word ‘ _when’_ hit me like a fist to the face. I grunted, “if he ever escapes,” and retreated to my desk.

 _Escape_.

Like hell MACUSA would let that happen.

Still, my gut twisted as I recalled Grindelwald boasting about getting away. _In a few days._ I would have to increase the number of security guards and sped up the procedure, whatever it took to drive that man to the Death Cell faster.

I wrote a note, silver ink on black paper, assigning more guards to keep watch over the underground jailhouse and the staircase. The signed paper folded itself into a scorpion shape and shot to the door. I watched the door crack open wide enough to let the scorpion pass and later put itself back into the frame. The anxiety still churned my gut. Maybe I should order the officers to sedate that criminal.

“Are you alright?” Credence’s voice startled me.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds to calm myself down as the boy stalked toward me. The closer he came, the more I felt worried but I also heard the warmth in his voice. “Yes.” I turned to face him.

Credence studied my always grumpy face. “Did you get the answer?”

“Yes, I guess. I couldn’t read Grindelwald to a complete degree, but more or less.”

I’d been useful for his plan to manipulate Credence. He’d used my job to get close to the Obscurus and my body to gain the boy’s trust and build up the boy’s hope. For those reasons alone, the bloody beating was totally unnecessary. However. He couldn’t stop himself from taking his self-hatred out on me— _on me and Credence_ _—_ because of things he was denying so stubbornly.

“He tried to break me because I was whom he dared not be. You heard him. I’m not totally comfortable in my own skin. I’m pathetic like he said, but at least I accept myself for what I am.”

“You aren’t pathetic.” Credence raised his voice. “Don’t listen to him. You are… You are… I don’t know how I can put how special you are in one word, Mr. Graves.”

Warmed by his naivete, I chuckled. “If these people knew about me, they wouldn’t think I was worth associating. They’d think I was a freak.”

Credence cast his eyes to the floor. Sadness pulled the corners of his mouth.

I grabbed his hands and drew him into my arms. “You don’t like this word.”

“Freak, weirdo, trash, simpleton, you name it. I hate them all.”

“No one will call you by those names anymore.”

The boy still didn’t return my gaze.

I cupped his face. “Listen. You have friends now. You don’t have to be alone in the shadow anymore. You have friends that like you and are proud of who you are, like Mr. Scamander, the ladies, and even a good No-Maj like Mr. Kowalski. You will be loved and respected. Trust me, you will be fine.”

He nodded.

“Do you trust me?”

He nodded again.

“Good boy.” I kissed his forehead and took in a pleasant sight of the boy’s flushing face. I teased his hot skin with caresses on the cheeks. “And don’t forget that you have me too.”

Credence parted his lips and cried out a low, painful whimper.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I don’t want to go back to England.”

The second he’d finished his sentence, hope swelled in my chest.

“I am worried about Modesty. And I want to meet you again, Mr. Graves.”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “Then don’t go. I’ll find Modesty and I’ll take care of you both.”

“But I want Mr. Scamander’s help. With the Obscurus.” Credence said, his voice low like a whisper. “I want him to cure me. I mean, not just pulling the Obscurus out of me, because it’s my magical power, right? I want to be a wizard too. Mr. Scamander promised he’d try.” He looked at me briefly and went back to staring at his shoes. “Could you please find Modesty? I will come back, hopefully soon enough.”

I wanted to argue that there might be other magizoologists or healers in the United States or in New York that could help Credence, just to keep the boy here beside me. But I knew that there would be no others as talented and caring as Mr. Scamander and his kind heart.

“I’ll find your sister,” I promised. His sad face was still cupped in my hands. I lifted it up in order that our eyes met. “And I’ll harass you with letters until you come back to me.”

“I… I’ll write, too!” Credence stuttered. “If you don’t mind me writing to you, of course.”

“Of course, I don’t mind.” I smiled. “Although, all I ask of you is to be happy. See the world and _live_. There are good people everywhere, Credence. You need to go out of your way to find them and be among them.”

“I only want to be with you.” He blurted out.

The boy leaned forward, placing his palms on the desk behind me, and kissed me. I pulled his jacket and pressed against him. I opened my mouth slightly, flicking my tongue on his lips. Credence followed my lead and stuck his tongue out to tickle mine. The electric jolt of desire shot down to the very end of my feet. I moaned into his mouth.

“I’ll come back,” Credence promised between kisses. And then he tilted his head and nipped at my neck, getting closer, pushing me onto the desk.

“You’d better.” I labored for my breath.

I heard the sound of a sharp intake.

“Credence?” Mr. Scamander poked his head from his suitcase. The magizoologist marveled at us with his curious round eyes.

Startled, Credence stumbled back quickly. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth while I was speechless. Oh God, I’d totally forgotten that the suitcase was opened. We were caught, with our hands red.

“Are you guys kissing?” Mr. Scamander asked.

_Obviously!_

My face felt hot. Was I supposed to say yes?

“Newt! Come back down!” Tina’s yelling came to my rescue. Nonetheless, I felt embarrassed to death.

“I’m sorry on his behalf, Mr. Graves. Newt! Now leave them alone!”

Did Tina know? She sounded like she knew. Now I was ready to crawl into a hole and die.

Mr. Scamander didn’t show any disgust, although he did act little nervously. But he always acted nervously, didn’t he?

“I...” He started, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I will leave you two at it. I just… I just want to ask if you want to meet my beasts down here. It’s almost feeding time.”

Credence was still as red-faced as me but he didn’t look as afraid of the situation as me. Perhaps, because he knew that Mr. Scamander wasn’t a threat.

“Let’s go meet them, Mr. Graves. They are kind.” The boy suggested.

I sighed, nodding my surrender.

Mr. Scamander beamed and beckoned to us. “Hop in. Hop in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!
> 
> I wrote this story for an Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them only event in Bangkok.  
> In fact, there are a few more chapters but for now they would be available only in the anthology book. : )  
> But I might post them on ao3 after the event. Please wait! 
> 
> This is the first time I completed a story (even a fan-worked one!) in English.  
> It was fun writing this story. Not so funny proof-reading though. : }  
> I hope you all enjoyed reading it.


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

 

15.

_Mr. Graves_

 

I’d lived among magic all my life. I’d sat with good wizards and chased after bad wizards. I’d talked to both the fool and the wise. I’d seen many things others could only call a miracle. I’d witnessed vicious barbarism which others could only read about in books. Aside from my own country and Canada which I’d thoroughly traveled from cities to cities, prairies to prairies, passes to passes, I’d visited Europe, South Africa, and Asia. I’d seen places both divine and cursed, some jewel-like churches, some lands and people that were dirtier than dirt.

I thought I’d seen it all. I thought I wouldn’t be astounded.

Mr. Scamander proved me wrong.

Among those grounds I’d had a chance to step on, there had never been any as breathtaking as Mr. Scamander’s suitcase. When I told him, he laughed and said that I had to visit Hogwarts.

“I’d love to, Mr. Scamander.”

“Call me Newt, please.”

I paused. “But I don’t like you calling me Percival. You’d sound like your brother and my mother. Both are quite annoying if you don’t mind me telling the truth.”

“No, I don’t mind your point-blank comment on my dear brother. He can’t help acting like a big brother to me every time we run into each other too.” Mr. Scamander made a face. “Mr. Graves it is. Please call me Newt anyway.”

The room which I’d thought looked like a basement was actually a small shed where Mr. Scamander kept his tools and feed for the beasts. When Mr. Scamander said he’d take me on a tour of the suitcase, Credence started filling a basket with fresh meat. The boy seemed to know his way around the place.

The small leather suitcase contained worlds. The space was separated into natural habitats for each type of creature. There were a warm evergreen bamboo forest, a hot and arid garden with medium-sized agaves, a golden desert with sandstone and volcanic rocks under the bright blue sky, a snowy landscape that extended its whiteness beyond the skyline, and many more home grounds for different beasts. Different temperatures and different environmental layers were adjusted to suit the beasts’ preference. To make the suitcase feel like home. The beasts were provided with clean nests and dens, fed suitable diets and given complete freedom. Enormous and tiny, cute and frightening, anything but ordinary creatures roamed around freely and cheerfully like pet dogs playing in a backyard. The beasts were happy and healthy. So were the plants.

As Mr. Scamander proudly showed me around, telling the story about how he’d rescued a Thunderbird, the wonderful smile never left his face, even though I could press charge against him for illegally transporting magical animals.

But I wasn’t going to do that.

I’d just made out with an Obscurial he’d brought back to New York in my office under President Picquery’s nose. Mr. Scamander’s secret was definitely safe with me. We were partners in crime.

The Demiguise—the critter that had pulled my coat in the jailhouse—was walking me. Its name was Dougal. I noticed that its eyes, which had been blue, now were yellow. Dougal kindly held my hand while its owner was introducing me to the stem-like Bowtruckles.

All but one of the six Bowtruckles lived on a leafy tree. Pickett—Mr. Scamander’s favorite—dwelt in his suit pocket. The little guy was pretty smart but shy. Pickett showed me how it could untie a knot but refused to climb onto my shoulder when it was instructed by Mr. Scamander.

Five minutes later, I met a Niffler. It was throning over the luxurious bed of golden coinage. The creature looked like a mole with an orange bill, very cute with short and round feature covered with fluffy black fur. But beware! The Niffler was as cute as it was greedy, annoyingly cunning, and trouble-making, or so I’d heard from the experienced magizoologist. The Niffler eyed me warily, not trusting me around its precious possession.

Mr. Scamander told me to flash the creature a golden coin. “Nifflers love shiny things like gemstones, gold, fancy silverware or even polished beach pebbles.” The young magizoologist explained. “The last time he escaped from my bag, he robbed a bank and sneaked into a jewelry store.”

I quirked my eyebrow. “Do you want me to arrest him?”

The Niffler made an angry grunt but fat chance that could scare anybody off. I dug up a No-Maj quarter eagle and held it in front of the cute ball. The Niffler slowly stood up. Its sparkling eyes fixed to the coin like a man seeing a fine woman and falling in love. I cast a spell on the coin, sending it flying. The Niffler charged after it and didn’t look back.

“Will you let him have it?” Mr. Scamander asked.

“Sure. If he can jump high enough.”

“Oh, dear.” Mr. Scamander shook his head and giggled. “He’ll get all frustrated.” Despite enjoying himself at the Niffler’s expense, his laughter was affectionate.

Next, the host guided me to a moonshine infused rocky mountain. Credence was there, carrying the bucket of meat. Dougal let go of my hand immediately and ran to Credence. The boy greeted the long-haired creature and threw three large pieces of meat onto the nearest big rock.

We all waited. Only I did breathlessly.

Several heartbeats later, a pair of gigantic creatures that looked like a mountain lion and dragon mixed emerged from the dark and ran toward us. The sound of the heavy feet jumped onto the rock was followed by a low deep roar and the sound of raw meat consumption. The creatures used a tentacle-like organ on their face to grab the meat and put the feed in their mouth.

“Mr. Graves, meet the Graphorns.” Mr. Scamander grinned ear to ear. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

It seemed like, since the New Year’s Eve, Mr. Scamander had been determined to present me the Graphorns. He rubbed the nearest beast’s front leg showing me how harmless the Graphorn could be.

“Still not cuddlesome,” I stated firmly.

“I agree. But the little ones are.” He said.

I felt something bump into my legs and when I looked down, I found a pair of little Graphorns. Chubby and short-legged, the offspring softly shrieked and swirled around to get our attention.

“You can touch them or pick them up. They won’t bite or scratch.” Mr. Scamander told me. So I did. It was a rare opportunity anyway. I rubbed the hump on the baby’s back. The hump was hard and thick like a rocky shield.

Mr. Scamander lifted a baby Graphorn and placed it on the rock. I did the same.

He hadn’t warned me that the little guy was freaking heavy.

Mr. Scamander watched me nervously pet the baby Graphorn on the head while it was wiggling its creepy tentacles to thank me for delivering it to Mom and Dad. “Graphorns are hunted for their horns and sometimes enslaved by Mountain Trolls. This is the last family.”

“Still not cuddlesome.” I pulled my hand away from the tickling tentacles.

He smiled, amused by my banter. I felt like a little kid.

“But you adore an Obscurus?” Mr. Scamander teased.

“I adore the Obscurial.” I shot back challengingly, dying Credence’s ears dark red.

Despite the blunt confession and the inappropriate action he’d earlier found me and Credence engage in, Mr. Scamander didn’t bat an eyelid. With the man, I could go too far, as far as I didn’t step on one of his beasts’ tail, I believed.

“I’m going to feed the Nundu.” Credence said. The poor boy was still red-faced.

“A Nundu?” I admitted that my face paled a little.

A Nundu was a leopard-like magical creature with _reputation_. A reputation like toxic breath and being extremely dangerous. It had a vocal sac that expanded as the Nundu roared filling the sac up with air, similar to a balloon being blown up except that the sac was full of thorns. It was large and more direful than a dragon. I’d read about it in a book but never seen the real one.

“It’s…” Mr. Scamander tried to explain.

“If you say that a Nundu is _not_ dangerous, I’m going to doubt everything you say from now on.”

Mr. Scamander laughed softly. But it was Credence who spoke up. “This Nundu has never caused any harm to us humans or the other creatures. You could go up there and have a look.”

“You go ahead, Credence. We’ll follow shortly.” Mr. Scamander directed the boy. Credence nodded and walked away with the meat bucket, the Demiguise in tow.

“I trust him with the beasts. The beasts trust him too.” Mr. Scamander told me as he caught me casting a glance at the back of the busy Credence. “Credence is hard-working and a fast learner.”

“Can you help him?” I asked.

“Help?”

“He’s wanted to be a wizard. He told me about wanting you to not pull out the Obscurus because he didn’t want to lose the magical power. Can you do that?”

Mr. Scamander fumbled with the hem of his shirt. “I can’t say for sure.”

“You pulled an Obscurus out of a child.”

“She died.”

I looked at him. Worried.

“She was dying.” The young wizard corrected himself. “I pulled the Obscurus out but it was too late. I couldn’t save her. But Credence is stronger. I hope I’d succeed this time.”

“You aren't going to pull it out?”

“I’ve never heard that an Obscurus could be changed back to magical power. I’ll try but I don’t even know what to try. All that I know is, I don’t want to pull it out when it’s too late again.” Mr. Scamander licked his lower lip. “I’ll talk Credence into getting it out. Sooner is better than later.”

“He will become a No-Maj?”

“He will become a squib.” Mr. Scamander said. “If he chooses to be in America, he still can interact with witches and wizards. This way, he won’t have to part with his sister. There are many things he can do, like astronomy, alchemy or zoology. He could continue rescuing and taking care of docile magical creatures. I strongly recommend zoology. There are many creatures native to America the world has yet to know about. He could even breed the rare cute species like Jackalopes or Hoop Snakes.”

“Don’t sound very cute to me. Both were feared critters in lumberjack tall tales.”

Mr. Scamander, being Mr. Scamander, laughed. Although I held a different opinion from him in the characteristics of cuteness, I agreed with the young zoologist on the future education and careers for Credence.

“Science is the new kind of magic,” I said. The greatest wizard of this modern era, sure as hell, wasn’t a wizard but a No-Maj inventor named Thomas Alva Edison. There were many branches of science Credence could learn, at a university if he liked. He could seek the truth of the Earth, the secret of stars or the beginning of life. He could introduce an unbelievable like Edison had gifted the world his creativity and inventions. The better-than-Lumos spell Edison distributed brought joy to everyone, magical people and nonmagical people alike. Credence still had a bright and exciting future before him even without witchery in the picture.

Mr. Scamander nodded and smiled at my concurring idea. “I’ll send him back to you after I took care of the Obscurus. Is it OK?”

“You know the answer. I told him I’d take care of him and his sister.”

But I wasn’t sure whether he would be happy to live with Modesty and me anymore after he’d become a squib. If Credence only wanted to be a magic user, he would be heartbroken when he realized that he couldn’t become a real wizard. Living under the same roof as Modesty and me might hurt him too much.

“What if he didn’t get rid of the Obscurus?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

I sighed.

“I want you to talk to him about this. He will have strength and hope if he has something to wait for.” Mr. Scamander threw his gaze over his shoulder and turned his face back to me. “I can’t help him more than pulling the Obscurus out, Mr. Graves.”

A frown crept up my forehead. “What if he didn’t want to come back to New York after he’d become a squib?”

“Why would not he?”

“He might not be interested in No-Maj things but want to help you take care of these magical creatures instead.”

Mr. Scamander looked amused again. “In that case, Mr. Graves, which is very unlikely, how about I let you adopt my Erumpent? She’s meek and obedient, and no mistake.”

 

 

 

 

 

I stomped off the rocky mountain to look for Credence. But when I reached the African landscape—a wide open plain surrounded by rivers and mountains—Credence wasn’t there. The only living thing that was resting on a big rock and barely took any interest in me was the Nundu. The infamous deadly Nundu. It opened an eye, sniffed me and went back to sleep, bathing in warm sunshine. Clearly, this place was safe enough for every creature to live peacefully. There was no need to defend itself or fight.

Or I just wasn’t worth roaring at.

Well, I really wasn’t worth roaring at. I knew. I knew.

I mumbled a so-long to the Nundu and continued my search.

I found my boy in front of the shed. He left the empty bucket on the ground and was running around helping the Niffler snatch the flying gold piece. The ladies were cheering him and the cute little creature on from the shed. My quarter eagle wasn’t clumsy. It shifted away out of reach every time Credence was close enough. The Niffler was crying with irritation while Credence seemed a bit annoyed but determined.

Credence saw me eventually.

“How can I get this smart coin, Mr. Graves?” He breathlessly asked. The coin flew even higher.

“Why don’t you change into the Obscurus and grab it?”

Credence looked at me. He parted his lips like he wanted to say something but didn’t. He pressed his lips together. The corners of his mouth curved up.

_Is that a smile?_

My heart stood very still at the sight. Credence was smiling and the smile looked… not shy.

Daring.

The boy peered up to the gold coin one more time.

In the blink of an eye, the body of the young man was replaced with a large black cloud that made the Niffler tremble. Even the doting Dougal stepped back.

The Obscurus growled deep and grew large. The thicker mass around the red core formed a mouth. The Obscurus flung its enormous body to catch the coin. The gold piece was swallowed into darkness and the Niffler whimpered hopelessly.

I heard a gasp.

Mr. Scamander stood behind me with his eyes so wide open.

Credence changed back into his human form. The golden coin wasn’t in his mouth but secured in his right hand. He handed the coin to the Niffler who was starting to gain back its cockiness. The boy lifted Dougal up. He said sorry and let the ladies lead the critter back into the shed.

Credence was beautiful.

The Obscurus was beautiful.

I was sure that I wasn’t the only one thinking like this as I glanced at the very much surprised Mr. Scamander.

What if Credence didn’t get rid of the Obscurus?

What if he could control it?

“Merlin’s beard. That was…” The young magizoologist started.

“Incredible.” I finished the sentence for him and walked to Credence. I pulled the boy into my embrace. Credence tensed up but later relaxed into me.

“You smiled,” I whispered.

“Did I?”

“You did.” I rubbed the back of his neck. “And you did well with the animals too.”

“I like them.”

“I’m considering adopting the Erumpent.”

“What?” Credence rewarded me with a soft chuckle.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I slipped my arms around his back and pulled him closer. If we could even get closer. Mr. Scamander was now gone.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back because you seemed to have so much fun with these beasts, so, your guardian promised he would let me have his Erumpent.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Which part?”

I wasn’t joking at all. My insecurity was as real and bitter as Monday morning.

“That you thought I wasn’t coming back to you? I am coming back to you, rain or shine.”

“What if you lost your power?”

Credence gulped. “What?”

“What if he couldn’t make you a wizard but instead a squib, would you still come back?”

The word squib made Credence shudder. He took in a sharp breath and made a sad face.

“You’ll be with me.” I pressed my forehead to his. “Even though you can’t use magic, you can still work with magic or work for MACUSA.” Which I wouldn’t allow him to. Ever. “Or you could learn everything you like. I saw how good you were with animals so I thought, if you wanted to be a magizoologist, I’d support you every way I could.”

“Starting from adopting an Erumpent?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone. “Do you know how big she is?”

“He said she’s meek.”

“He also said the Graphorns are cuddlesome!”

Good point.

“We could start with a Puffskein. We could go to visit Frank the Thunderbird. Or we could go south to meet with Native American Centaurs.”

“We could? Meeting with the Centaurs, I mean.” Credence blinked.

“Hopefully, if we had a Native American wizard with us, they’d grant us a sight. So, what do you say?”

“Even if you didn’t bribe me with Centaurs, I’m still wanting to be with you most. If you want me to come back, I decidedly will.”

“I want you to come back. I need you to come back.”

Credence sighed. “Now I don’t even want to leave.”

“But you will give Newt a try, right?” I didn’t want him to lose his power though. He was a very strong creature, if not a wizard. If he could live normally with the Obscurus, and control it, it would be swell.

Credence didn’t answer. He frowned at me. “You called him Newt.”

“Scamander told me to call him by name.”

The frown deepened.

My heart beat faster because of the little possessiveness in Credence’s scowl. But thinking that Credence would go back to England with Mr. Scamander tomorrow also made me dispirited. I rubbed my temple to his hair. “Now I don’t want you to go.”

I waited for him to say that he’d changed his mind. That he wouldn’t go. But all I got was heartbreaking silence. And a tighter grip on my coat. I drew back despite his weak whining protest. I kissed his earlobe, his forehead, and his jaw.

I’d have to wait for him.

We both would have to wait.

I cupped his jaw and pressed my lips against his. We couldn’t take it too far in here. “I’ll ask Newt if he would let me confiscate you for a night.”

Our eyes met. Lust sparkled.

“I wouldn’t mind you confiscating me forever.” Credence said painfully.

“I wish. Be safe, my boy. Just be safe and come back soon.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

16.

_Credence_

 

We got back to Mr. Graves’ hotel room in the evening. Mr. Scamander had allowed me to spend more time with Mr. Graves and I’d promised to meet him at New York Harbor tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. My stomach churned when the thought about the approaching departure swarmed into my mind. It wasn’t so much that I’d miss New York given my unpleasant history with the city. It was more that I’d suffer from being apart with Mr. Graves, now that I was so addicted to his caring nature and those dark eyes which had never failed to give me too much of protectiveness and affection. I’d crave for his presence, his soft chuckles, and his tender hands on me every day. I didn’t want to leave but I knew that unless I took care of the parasite force inside me, or at least learned how to subdue it, I’d never be able to live freely.

Mr. Graves nourished me with a mountain of mashed potatoes, a field of Brussels sprout salad and hearty white bean soup with smoked sausage. Mr. Graves had also bought a whole pack of Coca-Cola from a grocery store on Orchard street. This evening was the first time I ever tasted the popular carbonated soft drink. I pretended that I wasn’t at all excited.

The main course was Chicken Marengo, a French cuisine comprising sauteed chicken, tomatoes, garlic, and crayfish, topped with a crispy fried egg and parsley scattering.

Along with the savory chicken dish, Mr. Graves fed me the legend behind the recipe. Chicken Marengo had been born in the Battle of Marengo where Napoleon Bonaparte, then a French military and political leader, had defeated the Austrians. Dunand, Napoleon’s Swiss chef, knowing that his supply wagon was too far away, had no choice but to gather local ingredients, put them together and presented this random dish to Napoleon. Fortunately, it suited Napoleon’s taste. The chef was ordered to make a similar dish at the end of every battle. Dunand, being a cook, couldn’t resist the urge to perfect the recipe. He improved the dish using wine instead of water, adding mushrooms and leaving out the most ridiculous ingredient, the crayfish. But when Napoleon saw Dunand’s altered chicken dish, he’d have none of it, saying that the absence of crayfish would bring him bad luck. Hence, the crayfish was back.

Although Mr. Graves said that the legend was probably only a myth, I enjoyed the tale as much as Napoleon had enjoyed his lucky charm.

A lemon sponge cake was brought out. The round cake was scrumptious but half of it was left untouched. I was pulled onto Mr. Graves’ lap and, for dessert, we feasted upon each other instead.

Our lips met in desperate hunger. Lust flared up at everywhere we touched. I let him dominate me. Mr. Graves pressed my lips apart and slipped his tongue inside. His tongue was sweet and cold from drinking the soda with a taste of sour tomatoes. I wondered if mine tasted as good but Mr. Graves didn’t seem to get tired of feeding on it. His left hand snaked to my head and grabbed a handful as he slowly left a trail of saliva and hot kisses from my jawbone to my Adam’s apple. I moaned and he hummed approvingly, relishing sucking on the lump. His other hand blindly tugged my belt. When I let go of his shoulders and helped him get rid of it, Mr. Graves’ hand trailed downward to work its magic on something else. Something thicker. I arched my back, pressing my rear on the eagerness in his pants. We both moaned. Whatever bad taste I had against taking off the belt, for now, all was forgotten. I breathlessly yanked the belt off and dropped it to the carpeted floor.

“Let’s wash up and go to bed.” Mr. Graves nibbled my earlobe. I couldn’t agree more except that I wanted to skip the bath and go straight to the bed. But I was too excited to protest.

Red-faced, I climbed down from his lap, longing for the next kiss, touch, or whatever he’d give me, feeling impatient and lonely already. Oh, how could I survive a day without Mr. Graves?

Mr. Graves stood up. He held my hand, pulling me to the hallway.

The painting that was hanging on the wall caught my eyes. It was the painting of an adolescent by the sea, leaning his front against a rock while watching his friend swim, au naturel.

I didn’t know the first thing about art. I only knew that the painting was stunning. By just looking at it, I could feel the sparkles of sunshine on the sea surface and the rock that was warm at the top but cold where it dipped into the greenish water. I could hear the relaxing sound of the waves and the soft voice of the boy when he talked to his friend. The boy was beautiful. Every curve and line on his slim naked body were tempting me to walk over and brush my fingers on it.

But I could never touch him.

He would never call his friend’s name.

They would never throw their arms around each other’s shoulders and walk back home.

“The painting, it...”

Mr. Graves’ eyes followed the line of my sight. The grip on my hand loosened and fell. Mr. Graves stared at the painting for a while and then turned away, looking down.

Looking sad.

“I like it,” I said.

“You like it?”

I admired the painting again. “I don’t know beans about paintings but I think this one is very moving, sir. I don’t know why you look sad about it.”

Mr. Graves’ eyes softened. He thought for a long while before giving me the answer. “Although the painting itself just shows a carefree joy of boyhood not at all sexual, for me, it’s a dirty secret. It’s something I’ll keep hidden. I have more paintings by the same artist but I dare hang only one on the wall.”

“Why? I think they’d be fantastic.”

“It’d be too obvious.”

“Too obvious?”

“That I like them.”

“But you like them, right?” I blinked. He started to confuse me. Mr. Graves covered his mouth and dragged out a long sigh.

“How should I explain this to you?” He said quietly. “I can’t decorate my room with paintings full of naked boys and risk anyone seeing them. They’d realize that I… that I fancy men and I like them young. Young enough to be my son.”

His face flushed with embarrassment. His eyes darted around the room but looked at nothing in particular. Finally, he looked at me, sideways.

“I desire boys. Boys like you. This obsession isn’t suitable to be hung on any walls.”

He was ashamed of his confession.

“I shouldn’t want you, Credence, I shouldn’t touch you. But it’s unstoppable.”

I’d known for so long that men wouldn’t—couldn’t—get involved with men. A grown man lying with an adolescent or a boy was even more unthinkable. If Mom had been still alive and if she’d found out about the activity I engaged in with Mr. Graves behind closed doors, or sometimes in plain sight, or even my feeling for him, she’d have been fuming. She wouldn’t have hesitated to stab me with her cold-hearted condemnation and would have left me to drown in my own blood. My feeling had been kept hidden as if it hadn’t existed the same as my true baneful nature. My eyes had never dared linger too long on Mr. Graves whenever I saw him on the street. I’d never once hoped for Mr. Graves to set his eyes on me. He’d been out of reach. I’d believed that my prayer would never ever be heard, not to mention answered.

Hearing that he was attracted to boys like me, I was so happy I wanted to thank God.

God that never loved me.

“Why are you looking sad, Mr. Graves?” I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. “Are you thinking that perhaps you are doing bad things to me? If so, why do I feel so lucky?”

The tension in Mr. Graves’s jaw lightened. He lifted my hand to his nose and breathed in.

“I’m corrupting you.” Mr. Graves murmured, blowing warm breath on my skin.

I closed the distance between us. “If loving this means I’m corrupted then I was born corrupted.”

He stared right into my eyes, kissing the back of my hand. Those damp lips splayed and captured my skin between them. Teeth and tongue licked and nipped. My lower part reacted to every tiny bite and the sucking sound he was making. Mr. Graves gave my hand another worship. And then he snatched the back of my neck and pulled me into a kiss that suddenly made my legs weak. Our lips joined and savored and parted, gasped for breath, and slammed together again in rush.

I grabbed his shirt. He stepped forward as I stumbled backward. Mr. Graves ushered me to the bedroom. He anchored me to the door. His broad chest was heaving as he flicked his tongue teasingly over my used lips.

“I’m still corrupting you.”

By all means, please do.

“Are we still going to take a bath?” I asked.

Begged.

He smooched the side of my neck. “We still are, my dear boy. I smelled like a barn.”

Mr. Graves turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and guided me into the bathroom. He undressed me and ordered me into the bathtub. As I waited for the bathtub to fill up, I hugged my legs, enjoying the sight of the man of my dream stripping down, his strong shoulder to his chest, the track of hair to the erection now hard and wet. Thirst hung at the tip of my tongue. A need to rub myself on something, or someone in particular, was frantically pounding and expanding in my lower part.

I almost whimpered when Mr. Graves finally stepped into the bathtub. Hot water spilled out as he seated himself at the other side of the tub facing me. I was too ablaze to move. Mr. Graves shifted in the water. Our knees bumped. I couldn’t help letting out a quiet impatient sound that had been clogged at the back of my throat. He lifted the corner of his mouth wickedly.

“Wash up.” He handed me a bar of soap and watched me attentively while we cleaned ourselves up quick.

I was scrubbing my back. I felt toes tickling my inner thighs. A frisson shot through me as the toes branded into my skin and Mr. Graves aroused me with his usual sexy chuckle. The toes glided up and down before marking their way to an inch away from my arousal. I gulped, waiting for that one touch that would feel like heaven. But the toes teasingly didn’t move. Desperate enough, I boldly thrust my hip up searching for the friction. The hallux nudged my balls. I closed my eyes and purred. The toes wiggled and then slid behind my balls.

My ass clenched when his big toe met with my opening. It stopped there as if he was testing me.

Or asking. For a permission?

The feeling was new. Strange. Alarming.

And arousing.

As long as he wanted me, I’d deny him nothing.

I, looking at him, licked my lips and pushed back.

Mr. Graves’ eyes darkened. A low groan rumbled at the back of his throat. He pulled his foot back and leaned forward. He gripped my thighs and pushed them up, making a room for his body. He attacked my mouth, catching me by surprise, forcefully slipped his tongue inside. I dropped the soap, not even caring where it went. I put my arms around Mr. Graves’ shoulders and held on tight. Moans vibrated as the kiss was getting sloppy, unrestrained, and smeared with powerful urgency.

His hot hand worked it down to cup my ass cheek. The thumb slid to the inner flesh and rubbed over the hole. Slowly pressed into it. I whimpered softly, probably crying out his name or a joyous approval or both. Mr. Graves moaned. He withdrew his thumb. He was going to lean away but instead frowned and decided against it. He wrapped his hand around our cocks and stroked. I clung to him, rocking my hip into the strong firm grip. Our tongues and greedy lips ran wild. My head was emptied and my heart beat dangerously fast.

I gasped, bucked and bucked as he sent me over the moon.

I lay helplessly in the bathtub, my chest rising and falling although I was pretty sure that I couldn’t remember how to breathe. My skin was still burning by the sensation even though the water, mostly had spilled onto the floor, became lukewarm. Mr. Graves nuzzled the pulse on my neck, spraying light kisses all over it while he was feeling my torso with his hands. His nose trailed up. He lifted my chin and dragged his lips along the square of my jaw, whispering something my brain couldn’t yet process.

Mr. Graves pulled me out of the bathtub and dried me up.

“No invisible butler?” I leaned against him, skin to skin. The host was wiping my back with a clean towel.

“Am I not good enough to service you?”

He wasn’t good. He was perfect.

With Mr. Graves so near, I couldn’t get enough. And the teasing tone had stirred me up again.

Mr. Graves was still hard. His cheeks flushed and his hair was dampish and adorably messy. I placed my palms on his stomach and urged him to the door.

To the bed.

His erect nipples were so tempting. Distracting. I had to lower my head to claim one of them and pinch another en route, making him founder. Mr. Graves shivered and let out a short sharp sigh. I hurried him to the bed.

To. The. Bed.

Our weights sank into the mattress. Mr. Graves shifted backward. I crawled on top of him, following him closely until we were in the middle of the bed. He grabbed my shoulders, bent his knees up as I settled in between his legs. He drew me to him for a long-lasting kiss. Mr. Graves tilted his head for me to gain more access, for me to drove into him, for my tongue to rove his tantalizing mouth inside and outside. My hands felt around his chest and he arched into me, rubbing his nipples to my fingers. Lances of eros stabbed my belly, sending the hurtful need straight to my crotch.

I licked my way down to his collarbone, to his chest. I rolled my tongue over the tiny sensitive spot. Mr. Graves gripped the back of my head and positioned me there. I sucked him thirstily, using my body to push him down until his back touched the bed. And then I trailed down to his navel. Mr. Graves writhed impatiently. I held myself up, squeezed his thighs apart and looked down to admire the wizard underneath me.

His cheeks flushed. His lust-filled eyes were bleary. His mouth was red and well-kissed. The dark wet hair stuck to his forehead endearingly. His stretched out body, pinned to the mattress, was wild opened. Vulnerable and exposed.

My cock throbbed at the sight. And my throat suddenly felt too dry. Too empty. So I dipped my head and drew his dripping erection into my mouth. Mr. Graves moaned under his breath. He gently thrust into my mouth as I bobbed up and down, devouring his hard member eagerly. The musky smell prickled my nose, I wanted to dive onto his skin and took a lungful of it. But I focused on the task at hand. It was Mr. Graves’ turn to feel good.

I let go of his cock with a pop and nuzzled my way down his hefty length to played with his balls, nipping the smooth pouch and licking the soft skin behind the base of the cock. Mr. Graves grabbed the bed sheet. His breath became more rapid. Sharper, the same manner as the movement of his hip. As the climax was building up inside him, Mr. Graves rocked into my face more vigorously.

I fondled his balls and lifted them up. My face was right next to his rear-end. Looking at the ring hidden between his ass cheeks, I recalled the merriment he’d given me in the bathtub. When Mr. Graves had pushed his thumb inside my butt-hole, it had driven me crazy.

Mr. Graves thrust his hip up and clenched his bottom.

I swallowed. And lowered my head to brush my tongue on that tight muscle.

Mr. Graves’ legs jerked.

“Holy...” The sound shot out, rough and lost in rapture.

“May I?” I asked. He panted out something sounding like a consent.

I parted his buttocks wider and lapped over the opening. A deep-throated groan escaped from his lips. I shuddered from excitement. I worked my tongue enthusiastically, circling around, piercing in and pulling out, reaping the alluring moans from Mr. Graves. His cock was dripping and painfully hard.

The hole was tight. I had to ease it to open. Once I was inside, I twisted my tongue, and slowly gently pushed my tongue in deeper each time. The majestic wizard beneath me shivered from head to toe. After a while, his tight muscle started to relax. But when I held his thighs up so that I could shove my tongue all the way in, his body became tense again.

“Mr. Graves, sir.” I withdrew. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. But I...” He licked his lower lip and blushed adorably. “My back...”

“Oh, did I hurt your back?”

“Don’t say that aloud.” He threw his head on the mattress and covered his face with his arms. Mr. Graves was pouting. I laughed through my nose. So he added. “And don’t laugh.”

I bit my lip but the pouting Mr. Graves was too adorable to stop a grin. I lifted the corners of my mouth. He peered at me from under his arm. His expression softened and then he got up and reached for me. I leaned into his hand obediently.

Mr. Graves dragged me on top of him. He patted my cheek. He drew his thumb along my curving lips and bent forward for a kiss. “I take it back. I want you to smile. Preferably whenever you think about me. Please laugh more and smile more.”

I raised my brow. “Preferably not at your back?”

Mr. Graves loured at me. The large black dots in his eyes dilated. O dear, did I abash him? The smile almost died from my face when suddenly, Mr. Graves jerked me forward and gnawed at my lips. He shoved his tongue down my throat. I gagged a little but I didn’t stop. I didn’t ever want to stop.

Maybe I was being punished for making a joke about his back. If I got this kind of treatment every time I was naughty, how could I behave? I would rather be punished as severely than behave.

Maybe I was being loved.

Mr. Graves rolled me on my back. He straddled me. I grabbed the back of his knees and tugged him closer. He comfortably settled on my lap, wrapping his legs around my waist. Thankfully, our slick members met again.

He squeezed my shoulders, shoving his hip down, and blessed me.

“I want you, Credence. I want you to fuck me.”

I kissed him blindly. I didn’t understand what he’d just said until he rolled his hip back a little, touched his asshole and murmured something. I saw a soft white light glow under his index finger and in a few seconds, the light evanesced.

“What did you just do?”

He grinned at me. “Some protection. And some preparation. I didn’t want to make it quick but I’ve waited too long.”

I blinked.

“I’ll teach you later but now, my boy...” Mr. Graves’ order trailed off by a shortage of air. He lined the tip of my shaft with his butt-hole.

I needed not to be told twice.

I nudged the muscle ring gently and penetrated, invading his slick and tight entrance. I felt like my entire body was swallowed into a dark warm place, embraced by the ardor and the intimacy itself, the place where Mom would be scornful of, but it felt more like home than the empty bed and the emptiness I’d always woken up in.

My mouth slightly parted as I was dazed by the pleasure. I looked at Mr. Graves’ flushed face hazily. Mr. Graves wasn’t any better. Drops of sweat gemmed his forehead. He threw his head back. He clenched his muscle, making my toes curl. His fingers dug into my shoulders as he was trying to relax and adjust to the strong sensation in his behind. Mr. Graves bit his moist lip. The teeth slid off and instead, the tongue stuck out. I stared at his seductive curved lips like an idiot.

He blew hot air through his nose. “Move.”

I thrust my hip. Mr. Graves inhaled sharply. “Do it again.” Mr. Graves encouraged me so I rocked into him. Again.

And again without anymore command.

This time, I didn’t stop.

I fingered his nipples until they were stiff and then I tweaked sharp enough to make him squeak. I yanked him down for a brutal and wild kiss and pinched his nipples again.

“Oh, boy.” Mr. Graves gasped. I lusted after his tongue and fucked his mouth. When he moaned into my mouth, I gave it back to him just as passionate. The moans, the slapping sound of my balls hitting his rear, and the salacious smell of sex were driving me crazy and sending fire to every part of my body.

My heart rate was killing me.

My skin was burning.

No time for breathing. But who would care about breathing at this blissful hour?

I let go of his mouth, a trail of saliva dropped on my chest. Mr. Graves threw his arms around my neck and panted into my ear. I took hold of his dick, pumping up and down as I slammed my hip harder and faster against his welcoming body. Mr. Graves moaned and threw himself back. He thrust into my fist several times before he shot his load on my belly. When he did that, his entire body clenched and it set me off too.

I yanked him back to me so sharply his chest smacked with my face. I got a whiff of the neutral soapy smell mixed with the masculine scent of his sweat. Mr. Graves clasped my head tightly as if he was holding on for his dear life. Our guttural groans echoed simultaneously. I pounded him with my pulsing length, as violently as the naked rage for release plunged into me. I gritted my teeth. My body spasmed before jets of fluid spurted.

I thrust and filled him until all the strength left me, no, left both of us.

Mr. Graves cursed under his breath. The tight knot around my head loosened although the dampish arms were still holding me close. He pecked my nose affectionately and rolled his hip. The lazy wet sound stimulated the excited buzz in my throat. I heard his sexy chuckle and felt like having another round with him. After I could breathe, of course.

“If I smiled every time I thought about you, Mr. Graves, trust me, everyone would think that I was a lunatic,” I said quietly.

Mr. Graves didn’t voice anything except another amused chuckle. He lifted himself off me and collapsed on his back, pulling me to his chest. We stayed inert like that, embraced in each other’s warmth. I skimmed my fingers over his chest, staring at his white bedroom wall while Mr. Graves swept my wet hair up and kissed my forehead.

“You should hang the paintings here,” I told him.

“What paintings?”

“The maritime paintings with the boys,” I said. “No one will come in this room and see them, right?”

I hadn’t thought my words would sound possessive until I’d finished the sentence. But Mr. Graves didn’t seem to notice. “You are right. No one will.” His honest answer made me extremely happy.

I snuggled up to him more tightly as he gently pinched my ear. “If we’d had time,” he said, “I would have had a magical artist paint a portrait of you.”

“Of me?”

“That’s right. So that I could look at you every time I…”

“Miss me?” I boldly asked, hoping for a yes.

Mr. Graves paused and continued tickling my earlobe. “Yes, my boy. My dirty mind was going for ‘jerk off’ but, definitely, I’d look at your picture when I missed you. I think I’d look at it every day.”

That was even better than a yes.

I beamed at him but he gave me a rather sad smile. Oh... I just remembered that we hadn’t have that painting painted yet so, Mr. Graves would have nothing to look at when he missed me.

Suddenly, I felt very lonely.

I really didn’t want to go to England.

The regret might be showing on my face so Mr. Graves grabbed my wrist and pivoted from the mattress and climbed on top of me. “Don’t be sad.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “But, heaven knows, I’ll miss you badly.”

“I’ll find Modesty and adopt her. After that, you’ll come back and live with us. We will take care of her together. Promise?”

Together.

“Promise.”

“Until then,” He lowered his gaze to my parting mouth, “I’ll teach you what to do when you miss me bad.”

I was going to smile but Mr. Graves just pressed his lips on mine. He pinned my wrists to the bed and shifted his lower body. I started at the sensual delight, couldn’t wait for the naughty lessons he’d promised.

“We only have time til morning.” Mr. Graves smiled at me faintly.

I smiled back, wishing the morning would never come.

 

 

_The End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the entire story. Thank you for reading and visiting this page. I hope you enjoy Meeting Mr. Graves.


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